Right In Front Of Me
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: When Ross returns from China with Julie, Rachel does something -- and someone -- unexpected. Warning: Strong sexual themes, strong language, and constant nicotine abuse.
1. Crystal Duckie, You're The One

_"Love Scenes" are my Achilles' Heel. I don't write 'em if I can help it, (insert a lot of fades to black and 'meanwhile...'s), and can barely read most of them without bursting into hysterical giggles (I never claimed to be mature). This story is me responding to a challenge from a fellow writer, just to see if I could do it.  
  
As such... this fic is __naughty_. That's pronounced "naw-TAAAAY". I've seen worse than this both on Prime Time *and* in the PG-13 sections of FF.net, so I didn't NC-17 it, but just be forewarned -- this story is chock-full of s-e-x.  
  
If that bothers you, now would be a really excellent time to flee.  
  
Didya flee yet?  
  
No?  
  
You sure?  
  
Okay...  
  
--------------------------------------------  
  
"Hang on, hang _on_," Chandler sighed, vaulting over the duck and jogging towards the door. "Jeez -- I'm coming, you don't have to bang the damn door down..."  
  
Chandler arranged his glare and yanked the door open. "What in the..."  
  
His angry look slid off, his eyes flying wide. "Rach?"  
  
"Hey," she whispered, leaning haphazardly against the doorway, eyes red-rimmed, the band-aid on her forehead dangling limply from one strip of adhesive. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Sure... I mean, of course, come on..." Chandler caught her as she stumbled, leaning her up against the foosball table. "You're a little drunk, huh?"  
  
"A little," she admitted, holding her fingers together unsteadily.   
  
Chandler knelt at her feet, removing her impossibly high-heeled loafers. "I never saw how you walked in these things, anyway."  
  
"Well, I was _better_ at it before the wine," Rachel reached up and peeled her band-aid the rest of the way off, tossing it in the general direction of the trash can.  
  
"You, uh... you wanna sleep it off in Joey's bed? He has a date..."  
  
"No."  
  
"You want me to help you across the hall?"  
  
"No." Rachel padded barefoot over to the big brown couch, collapsing onto it. "This is all your fault, Chandler. All... your... fault."  
  
"I know. I know, Rach... I'm so sorry."  
  
"All your fault," she mumbled, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it behind her head. "I was _happy_ until you came along, with your big mouth, and your stupid crystal duck..."  
  
Chandler sat down, putting a tentative hand on her ankle. "Rach... I know, I know my timing was horrible..."  
  
"Could not have _been_ more horrible," Rachel clarified.  
  
"But... it was an honest mistake, okay? How was I supposed to know about..."  
  
"Don't say the name!"  
  
"That... person... from China?"  
  
"Don't say the country," Rachel moaned, lurching forward, wrapping her arms around him, hot tears soaking into his collar. "I've never been so embarrassed..."  
  
Chandler reached out, lightly stroking her hair. "Rach... I..."  
  
He broke off, sighed. "If there's anything, _anything_ I can do to make this up to you..."  
  
Her head snapped up, her eyes staring into his. "Do you swear?"  
  
"Sure, sure, yeah, I swear..."  
  
And before Chandler's brain could react, Rachel's lips were on his.  
  
He sprang back. "Rach... what... whaddya... whaddya doin?"  
  
"You swore." Her fingernails scraped lightly down the back of his neck, and Chandler fought back a shudder of pleasure.  
  
"I didn't know ya... ya meant _this_..."  
  
"Do you know where I almost went tonight?"  
  
"Um... no..."  
  
"Paolo's."  
  
"Oh, Rachel, _major_ ick...!"  
  
"And it's where I'll go if you don't kiss me."  
  
"You realize this is probably not, um, the healthiest of reactions..."  
  
Rachel slid herself onto Chandler's lap, straddling him, reaching out to grasp the back of the couch. He was trapped. "I don't feel very healthy right now." Her hair fell in a silken curtain against his neck as she lowered her lips to his throat, dragging her mouth slowly along the place where his heartbeat echoed loudest.  
  
"R-r-ray, Rachel, wait," Chandler pleaded, struggling for control as Rachel's hands roamed his chest, sliding up underneath his bowling shirt, leaving trails of heat. "You'd regret this tomorrow, you'd hate me, I don't want that..."  
  
"I wouldn't."  
  
"You would."  
  
"I wouldn't. Part of me has wanted to do this since that night I saw you again at the bar."  
  
"R-r-really?"  
  
"And you know..." her lips pressed against his ear again, her breath sending shivers through him. "I did have those dreams about you. They were very good dreams."  
  
"The, uh... the table dream?"  
  
"Among others." She tossed her head, a sly smile stretching her lips, layers falling all around her face. Her hands moved further north inside the warmth of his shirt.  
  
"But Ross..."  
  
"... is with Julie..."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Chandler?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Shut the hell up." She pressed her mouth against his, leaning forward, sliding herself against him. He moaned against her lips, and her neck arched in triumph as his hands began to move, sliding up her back, crushing her to him. His mouth opened, heat rising, his kisses becoming more urgent, demanding.  
  
"Chandler?" she gasped.  
  
"Shut the hell up," he growled, pushing her back into the cushions of the couch.  
  
He moved over her, his eyes hungry, his thigh sliding between her legs, pressure where she needed it most. He took her mouth, cupping her face with a hand, his thumb caressing her cheek even as his lips beat down on hers mercilessly. She raised her hands to his face, and he made a low noise, capturing her wrists, holding them above her head with one hand while the other began a slow assault up her thigh.  
  
Had she thought she was in control? Seriously?  
  
"This is what you wanted," he murmured against her lips. "This is what you get."  
  
This hadn't been... she hadn't known... had never dreamed _this_ man lurked inside Chandler Bing, the jokester, the seemingly confidence-free clown...  
  
_This explains a lot about Janice_, Rachel thought...  
  
And then Chandler blotted out all conscious thought for her... his fingers toying, teasing along her upper thigh, fingertips barely brushing skin.  
  
He was killing her. Rachel's hips lifted off the sofa, silently begging, but Chandler just laughed deep in his throat, continuing his agonizing ministrations. She moaned, her neck arching, hair spilling across the pillow, her whole body grinding against his in need.  
  
"Please," she begged. "_Please_."  
  
"Want something?" he smiled, letting the backs of his knuckles drag the fabric of her blouse across her aching breasts.   
  
He kissed her again, their tongues sliding together, his fingers undoing button after button, gently pulling her shirt away, his hands cupping, teasing. He trailed kisses down her throat, her collarbone, pressing his lips against her breasts, releasing them from her bra, the warmth of his mouth surrounding her, driving her insane. She rocked herself against his thigh, desperate, and he withdrew it.  
  
"Chandler," she moaned, her voice ragged, her breath shallow. "Oh my god..."  
  
His hands again, god, how had she never noticed his hands? The large, warm weight of them on her thighs as he spread them, his thumbs pressing in, an unstoppable force. His mouth moved to her stomach, traced the lines of her ribs, dipped towards her belly button. Her work skirt pooled around her waist, her panties were being dragged slowly down her legs, the silk of them a whole new world of torture.  
  
And then... oh, god... his mouth.  
  
She arched involuntarily, grinding against him, as he worked magic, slow circles building to rhythmic pressure. She realized her hands were free and tangled them into his hair, eyes closed, brain melting, crying his name and then screaming it as he sent her over the edge, nails raking into his scalp, legs trembling in his hands.  
  
"Oh my god, Chandler, oh my god," she mumbled, the words having no meaning, only the need to say his name, to touch him, to...  
  
Her hands flew to his collar, fumbling at buttons, pulling frantically at the black fabric that kept her skin from his. She ripped his shirt back from him, yanking it down his arms, hurling it aside before attacking his belt buckle, his khakis, his boxers.  
  
And finally she was close to him, skin on skin, the warm weight of him, the man-ness of him flaming her brain, running her hands deliriously over his arms, his chest, his stomach, reveling in his textures, unable to get enough of him, wanting him closer. Their mouths met and she wrapped her legs around his, her hands tracing the lines of his back, his neck, the rough satin of his hair.  
  
"More," she begged, feeling him press against her. "Please."  
  
He slipped his hands under her thighs, her lip dragging through his teeth... and then he was inside her, filling her, his heart beating hard against her own.  
  
"Rach," he whispered, his eyes closed, his lips parted, a look on his face that was almost holy. "Oh, god... Rach."  
  
She kissed his forehead, tasting his sweat, and he began to move, slowly, drawing out the moment, an exquisite torture, his breath shallow. Their fingers intertwined, her calves sliding up his thighs, her whole body pulsing, her hips rising to meet his.  
  
"I can't... I'm... more. _More_."  
  
He slammed into her, and a strangled scream of satisfaction rose from her throat. She pushed herself against him, fingernails raking down his back, encouraging him, begging him, her whole body trembling, wild and unconscious. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, their bodies slick with sweat, sliding against each other as he drove into her again and again, whispering in her ear, telling her what she was doing to him, how she was making him feel, the power she had over him. His teeth dragged over her throat as his voice grew ragged, hoarse with wanting, and she crushed him to her as they both cried out, his forehead touching her own, their breath intermingling as their moans of pleasure grew louder, frantic, animal.  
  
The mouunting pressure broke inside her and she screamed, nails digging into him, her head thrashing back and forth. Chandler cried out and she felt him shudder, tightening her arms around him, keeping him with her, wanting to feel this through him.  
  
His head dropped onto her neck and they gasped for air, limbs tangled together, one gasping, aching creature. She felt his heart pound against her chest, ran her hands up his arms, felt his biceps tremble from the force of it.  
  
She put his hand on his heart, and he lifted his head, staring into her eyes.  
  
"Chandler Bing... you are full of surprises," she grinned.  
  
Hurt flashed through his eyes then, and a guard slammed down between them. "Was that what you wanted?" he gasped.  
  
She raised her hand, cupped his cheek. "I didn't know I wanted _this_."  
  
"Joey will be back soon," Chandler said, bitterness creeping into his voice. "You might want to head over to Paulo's, if that's still the plan."  
  
"I don't want to go to Paolo's. I want to stay here, with you."  
  
"Well, I'm going to sleep," he said, the same stubborn hurt in his eyes.  
  
"I want to sleep with you," she said. "I want to wake up with you."  
  
Confusion stole over Chandler's face. "But Ross...?"  
  
"I've been waiting for someone to really love me a long time, Chandler. You made it sound like he was it. I wanted to be loved."  
  
"And what do you want now?"  
  
"I wasn't expecting this. But I... I want to wake up with you. Take a shower with you. Maybe put on your sweatshirt, maybe go get some coffee. See what happens from there."  
  
One last lock on the door: "Do you mean it?"  
  
"Yeah, Chandler. I mean it."  
  
He rose from her, kissed her hand, and took it, pulling her to her feet. "C'mon. Let's pick you out a sweatshirt."  
  
She followed him into his bedroom, grinning. 


	2. You Make Bathtime Lotsa Fun

_Edited this one a little; Exintaris wrote in to gently remind me that I'd put enough alcohol in Rachel to kill her, and I also... remembered a little third something about Chandler in this season._  
  
--------------------  
  
Rachel's eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to focus. She raised her head from the pillow slowly, gingerly; the ghost of a headache beating softly somewhere behind her temples. She was warm, so wonderfully warm, and an arm was thrown around her waist...  
  
It all came flooding back. The airport, Julie, that disgusting sicky-sweet phone call... running out of her apartment, ending up at that tiny bar, pouring out an increasingly incoherent tale of crystal ducks and cats and blackouts to the nodding, ever-patient bartender. Somewhere around the fifth glass of wine, visiting Paolo had started to sound like a good, no, a _great_ idea. She'd run home for something... oh, yeah; cuter, sex-worthy underwear... seen the light under Chandler's door, and decided he needed to be screamed at...  
  
She remembered the rest, and her whole body flushed.  
  
"You're awake," he murmured into the back of her neck, hot breath sending tingles down to her toes.  
  
"Yeah, I... yeah, I am." She snuggled back into him, fitting her body into his. He tightened his arm around her.  
  
"What time do you have to go in to work?"  
  
"Noon... what time is it now?"  
  
"Nine-thirty. Whaddya say to cereal and a shower?"  
  
She ground her hips slowly against him, enjoying the immediate effect it had. "I say... reverse the order."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." He rolled her onto her back, brushing his lips against hers. She responded with a sigh, letting her palms travel up his arms as he moved on top of her, sliding his hand up her ribs.   
  
The sunlight streamed in through Chandler's window, painting the room golden, turning the bed into a glittering dust-dance. Rachel ran her hands across Chandler's back, chasing the patches of light that made his skin glow.  
  
"You keep this up, we're not going to make it to the shower," she laughed.  
  
"That's a tragedy," he quipped, lips already fluttering down her throat as his hands strayed ever lower. She opened for his touch, tracing slow figure-eights on his stomach, his chest, his thighs, letting her fingers drag over his skin, exploring him, eyes wide and drinking him in.  
  
He took her breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling lazily, and she arched into him, reaching out for him, gratified to hear him gasp, teasing him with feather-light touches.  
  
"You're killing me," he chuckled.  
  
"You mind?"  
  
"Hell, no."  
  
She slid her hands up, pressing into his back, letting him know what she wanted... and he slid into her, slowly, discovering her inch by inch. His eyes closed, a slight smile on his face, letting the sensations sink in.  
  
He moved like a last, slow dance, trailing soft, lingering kisses on her eyelids, forehead, cheeks... finally capturing her mouth as his fingers teased her to the same languid rhythm, their bodies writhing in slow motion.  
  
Last night had been delirious, rabid... this was slow jazz, aching, each moment drawn out, pleasure oozing over her, each neuron catching fire individually, with time to savor the blaze.  
  
She whimpered against his lips, and he drove into her harder, faster, his thumb beating time against the place where her heartbeat had relocated. She clawed out with both hands, grabbing handfuls of bedsheet, biting her lip to keep from screaming as heat surged over her, making her weak, making her eyes roll back in her head.  
  
Chandler moaned, low in his throat, and the sound of it sent her over the edge, her whole body in spasm, every muscle contracting... and Chandler cried out her name with one last shudder, whispering into her neck, collapsing against her with tears in his eyes.  
  
The sudden weight of him struck something within her, and she was laughing for pure joy, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him even closer.  
  
_Mine_, she thought fiercely, surprising herself. _Mine_.  
  
"What's so funny?" he asked, lifting himself up, a quizzical smile on his lips.  
  
"I'm... I was so... so _sad_ yesterday, and now I'm... I'm..."  
  
She trailed off, and he grinned. "Ready for that shower?"  
  
***  
  
Chandler made a final adjustment, running his hand under the shower spray. "Okay, perfect. Ladies first..."  
  
She stepped in, turning her face to the spray, letting the heat beat down on her. The shower curtain rings scraped and Chandler followed, bending to pick up a bottle of shampoo.  
  
"I should warn you," he laughed, squirting shampoo into his palm, "When we get out of here... that blue towel on the floor? That's Joey's. Never touch it, never use it, never make eye contact with it. I keep the clean ones in that little cabinet over the hamper. Same goes for the red thing that sort of resembles a washcloth."  
  
"Good to know."  
  
"Turn around."  
  
She did, and felt his fingers slide into her hair, working the shampoo into it, the pads of his fingers massaging her scalp. She sighed, leaning back against him.  
  
"You have freakishly strong fingers, Chandler. Not that I'm complaining."  
  
"Yeah, well... I type all day. I also have overdeveloped smoking muscles."  
  
She grinned. "I noticed... last night."  
  
"Did you now." He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently. "Okay... rinse."  
  
She let the water beat against her hair, reaching down and grabbing the soap, working up a lather, pulling Chandler towards her.  
  
"You wash me _way_ better than I do," he sighed happily.  
  
"Yeah, well, you do it all the time, the thrill is gone." She went up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. "Turn around, lemme get your back."  
  
She stopped, running her finger down his side. "Um... Chandler?"  
  
"It's a nubbin," he sighed.  
  
"A... _nubbin_?"  
  
"Third nipple."  
  
"Third nipple," she mused, running the soap over it.  
  
"Yeah... if you're gonna freak out and run, watch out for the loose tile by the sink..."  
  
"I'm not running," she laughed. "I think it's kinda cool."  
  
"No, you don't. _No one_ thinks _that_ is _cool_."  
  
"Yeah, but I... I actually do." Rachel's eyes twinkled. "What can I say? I like knowing your little..." she let her hands play over it, her lips curling in a mischevious grin, "... naked secrets."  
  
"Yeah, um, about that." Chandler turned, letting her soap his back. "Maybe we should talk about us, um, having the naked secrets, and the... well... the Ross situation?"  
  
"Ross is with Julie... why would he care?"  
  
"Oh trust me, Rach... he's gonna care. He's gonna _hate_ me. I mean, the man tried to have Paolo _deported_."  
  
"He did?" she grinned. "That's... bizarrely flattering."  
  
Chandler stiffened. "And, um, about that."  
  
"About...?"  
  
"C'mon, Rach. You showed up here last night in tears over Ross... I think I've earned a little insecurity on this point. You were so in love with him yesterday!"  
  
Rachel sighed. "I don't know. I don't know _how_ I feel about that."  
  
"Ah, _just_ what I wanted to hear..."  
  
"Seriously, Chandler! It's not like I planned this! I mean... I came over here for the sole purpose of screaming at you! Washing your back the next day was not on the agenda! Turn around and rinse!"  
  
"So... what do you want to do?" He stepped under the water, letting the soap slide off.  
  
"Okay, bottom line. Neither of us are dating anyone, right? We are two unattached, consenting adults... and the only person who _might_ care about what we did together, has a girlfriend, which means he doesn't have the _right_ to care. We did _nothing_ wrong. How is this anyone's business but ours? I say, we don't mention it."   
  
"Um. So is this, uh, a one-time thing we're not mentioning, or an... ongoing process?"  
  
"What do _you_ want?" Rachel asked, wrapping her arms around him from behind and rubbing her soapy skin against his.  
  
"Kinda hard to think objectively, with the... boobies and all..."  
  
"Which is why I'm doing it..."  
  
"So, uh, I take it you want this to continue?"  
  
"I don't know about you, Chandler," Rachel whispered, laying her head against the smooth planes of his shoulders, "But I'm having a _great_ time. A surprising, totally unexpected, what-the-hell, where-did-this-come-from, great time. And that doesn't happen to me that often."  
  
"Me either," Chandler admitted, pulling her hand up and wrapping it in both his own.  
  
"So?"  
  
Chandler whirled, taking Rachel in his arms, pressing her up against the tile, his hand cradling the back of her head. His mouth came down hard on her own, and Rachel responded passionately, wrapping arms and legs around him.  
  
"I take it that's a yes?" she laughed.  
  
"That's a yes," he said huskily.  
  
"So," she grinned.  
  
"So... you're my secret girlfriend."  
  
"I'm your girlfriend?" Her mouth curved in delight.  
  
"What, uh... what were you gonna call it?"  
  
"Something more vulgar. But I like yours way better."  
  
They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, grins growing. Rachel raised her hand, traced the line of Chandler's jaw.  
  
"Hmm. Well... I think... as my first act, as your new... secret girlfriend..."  
  
"Yeeeeeeeees?" he drawled... then his eyes flew wide as Rachel suddenly slid down him, landing neatly on her knees and taking him into her mouth, her nails dragging down his thighs, pulling him towards her hungrily.  
  
Chandler's knees buckled, his arm flying out, grasping onto the soap dish for support. Bottles of conditioner went flying.  
  
"You... are the best... secret girlfriend... I've _ever_ had." 


	3. Coffee and Chocolate

_Certain lines/plots taken from the actual show, where appropriate. Reviews are crunchy and nutritious! That's right, I'm talking to _you_, the __499 people_ who read this yesterday and didn't review! Naughty, naughty monkeys!  
  
-------------  
  
Rachel re-piled her hair on top of her head, sliding the clip back into place and heaving an airpot up to the side of the sink. She plunged her hands into a dubious mixture of black water and floating Equal packets, her lip curling in distaste.  
  
Normally, she hated being on dish station, but today, it was a mercy. She'd started out on floor, until Evil Breve Lady had arrived and made her cry, _again_. Gunther had, glaring daggers at Breve Lady, switched her to drinks, where she'd managed to burn herself on the steam wand not once, not twice, but seven times, Gunther practically cooing over her before sending her back here.  
  
Verbally assaulted, multiply burned, and now stuck scrubbing long-wear lipstick off the espresso cups... she should be having a terrible day.  
  
And yet, she couldn't wipe the grin off her face.  
  
_You're killing me.  
  
Do you mind?  
  
Hell, no._  
  
Her stomach flipped out from under her, her knees went weak, and she nearly dropped the plastic glass she'd been scrubbing. This had been happening to her all day, these random... Chandler-attacks. She'd remember a look on his face, or a sound he'd made, or something he said, and these... _waves_ would crash through her. No wonder she kept burning herself.  
  
It was remembering his _voice_ that was really doing it. She'd heard Chandler quip, and rant, and joke... she'd never heard him moan, or whisper in her ear, or speak in that husky, desire-roughened, _growl_ he had before. It was... so different, so... _intriguing_, like she'd found a hidden panel in a room she'd known forever. The secret Chandler Bing... a secret she was now in on.   
  
She gazed into a stack of dirty muffin plates and saw his face instead, felt his skin against hers, heard his voice in her head. She let her hands drop to the sink, keeping herself still, just enjoying the shivers that ran all over her, her lips parting under the weight of invisible kisses.  
  
She shook her head, clearing it, laughing at herself under her breath, attacking a cup with the dish rinser.  
  
"Rachel?"  
  
She turned, smiled. "Hey, Gunther."  
  
"It's seven. You wanna clock out? One of your friends is already here."  
  
Her heart lurched. "Which one?"  
  
Gunther shrugged. "One of the two I can't tell apart. The taller one, I think."  
  
She dunked her cup back in the sink, scurrying for the doorway.  
  
Chandler sat on the end of the orange couch, immersed in a novel, his long, tapered fingers trailing down the pages, turning them slowly.   
  
She'd never been so jealous of paper before.   
  
How had she never noticed the elegant arch his wrist made, the curve of his jaw, the easy, nimble, precise grace with which he moved? How had she never been struck down before by the sight of him? Had she never really _seen_ him before?  
  
She drank in his profile with her eyes, reaching behind herself to untie her apron.  
  
"Hey, I'll get that," Gunther said, nearly leaping over to work the knot for her. "You, uh, you going to hang out here a while?"  
  
"Yeah, I... think I'll see what Chandler's up to," she said casually. "Thanks, Gunther."  
  
She clocked out, hanging up her apron, and crossed behind him... letting her fingers drag along the back of the couch, brushing his shoulders.  
  
He looked up, face lighting in a grin. "Hey."  
  
"Hey, yourself." She sat down next to him. "Whatcha readin'?"  
  
He flashed her the title of the book. "I was gonna see if you wanted to catch a movie or something."  
  
"Yeah, sure, I... should probably shower first, I bet I smell like dishwater."  
  
He leaned in to smell her neck, his breath cinnamony and hot against her collarbone. Her spine melted again, and she tried to remember to breathe.  
  
"Actually, you smell like chocolate and coffee. Both good." He grinned. "But I wouldn't turn down another shower..."  
  
They shared a grin. Chandler touched her hand lightly. "What were you doing on dish detail, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, I was useless today. I guess I was... _distracted_..." she bit her lip. "I kept, y'know. Remembering stuff. Going all jell-o knees."  
  
Chandler laughed. "See this book?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"I've been reading it for two hours." He showed her where his finger held his place. "I'm on page _five_."  
  
"You too, huh."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Very, very much, me too."  
  
He searched her face. "Have you been crying?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "Just Evil Breve Lady. She does it every day."  
  
"Evil Breve Lady?" Chandler repeated curiously, moving a lock of her hair away from her eyes.  
  
Rachel grinned. "I shouldn't talk about it here."  
  
"You, uh... wanna go out to dinner and talk about it?"  
  
"That would be..." she looked out the window, face falling. "... probably not a good idea."  
  
Chandler whipped around, following her eyes. "Oh."  
  
Monica, Phoebe, and Joey spilled into the coffeeshop. Rachel's eyes widened. "Oh my god, Mon -- what happened to your hair?"  
  
"Now, is _that_ 'never mentioning it again'?" Phoebe snapped.  
  
"She wasn't _there_, Pheebs," Monica sighed, glaring at Phoebe. "'Vidal Buffay' apparently doesn't know the difference between Dudley and Demi Moore."  
  
She crossed her arms. "Go ahead, Chandler."  
  
He blinked. "Go ahead... what?"  
  
"Mock. Poke fun. I know you want to. I'm prepared."  
  
"I dunno," Chandler said, regarding her completely seriously. "The length's okay, Mon, but you might wanna get it evened up a bit." He opened his book again.  
  
"Okay... that I was _not_ prepared for," Monica blurted, plopping into the chair.  
  
"S'no fun when you're prepared for it," Chandler smiled, turning a page.  
  
Monica turned her attention to Rachel. "Where were you last night, anyway?"  
  
"She stayed with us," Joey said. Rachel's heart stopped. "Hey Chandler, you gonna finish that muffin?"  
  
"Nah, man, take it."  
  
Monica's brow wrinkled. "She stayed with you guys?"  
  
"Well, _yeah_," Joey peeled the wrapper off the muffin. "She hit her head yesterday -- _somebody_ had to wake her up every two hours. Y'know, in case she had a confusion."  
  
"Concussion," Chandler corrected quietly.  
  
"Concussion, yeah. So Chandler did it. I wasn't there, I had a date."  
  
Rachel's eyes flashed between Joey and Chandler. Joey shoved his muffin into his mouth, brushing crumbs off his hands; Chandler tipped her the very smallest of winks.  
  
"Oh, sweetie!" Monica cried. "I would have done that for you!"  
  
"Well, you were already asleep when I got back from the bar," Rachel said. "Chandler was up watching cartoons."  
  
Man, lying was easy when you didn't actually have to.  
  
"You went to a bar?" Phoebe said.  
  
"Had some sorrows to drown," Rachel laughed. "And believe me, I drowned 'em _deep_."  
  
"Only Chandler would spend Friday night with a hot drunk girl, watchin' cartoons," Joey laughed.  
  
"Yep, I'm a big loser," Chandler agreed affably, turning a page.  
  
"Okay, you are -- you are in _way_ too good of a mood," Phoebe said, turning a suspicious eye on Chandler. "Your aura's all... pinky-red. What's going on?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I be in a good mood?" Chandler laughed. "Got a good book, good coffee, good friends, free _hand job_ from Joey's psychotic _tailor_..."  
  
"What?" Joey gasped. "Frankie??"  
  
"That's right!" Chandler laughed. "Thanks a hell of a lot for the referral to Chester the Molester, man."  
  
Rachel watched Chandler and Joey bicker, sliding closer to Phoebe. "Hey, Pheebs... what's _pinky-red_ mean?"  
  
"Well, the pink is, uhm, kinda friendship, y'know? Feeling comfortable with people, secure, it's a love thing... and the red is, well, passion, sexual energy... anger too, but not so much with the pink..."  
  
"So he's horny but happy to be with us? Sounds... Chandler-y..."  
  
"Yeah, but usually, Chandler's more greeny -- self-doubt, y'know? I mean, he's got a little bit of that, he always does -- oooh, oh, yeah, _bunch_ more now that Ross just walked in."  
  
Rachel whirled. Ross and Julie waved, crossing to the counter for drinks.  
  
"That's... _interesting_," Phoebe said, looking between Rachel and Chandler suspiciously.  
  
"You want some coffee? I'm gonna get some," Rachel said quickly.  
  
"Sure," Phoebe said, still staring at a space over Rachel's head. Rachel felt the bizarre compulsion to wrap her hands around her aura and shield it from prying, psychic, Phoebe eyes.  
  
Chandler jumped up. "I'll get it, you get coffee all day." He headed over in Ross' direction.  
  
"Green, green, _green_," Phoebe muttered.  
  
"Hey, you guys," Ross said happily, joining them on the couch. "Julie, tell Rachel."  
  
"I've, uh... I've got this friend who's quitting Bloomingdale's Monday, and he wants to abuse his discount this weekend. Any of you guys up for shopping tomorrow?"  
  
"I have to take my grandmother to the vet," Phoebe said, shooting an anxious look at Rachel.  
  
"Sure, Julie... I'd love to go," Rachel said.  
  
Phoebe and Monica exchanged a shocked glance.  
  
"Um, yeah... I could shop," Monica said slowly.  
  
"I guess Grandma could drive herself for once..."  
  
"So we're all in? Great!" Julie smiled. "You wanna say... two p.m.? Pick you up at the apartment?"  
  
"Sounds great," Rachel smiled.  
  
***  
  
"What the hell was that?" Monica hissed the moment she'd left the coffeeshop. "You _want_ to go shopping with Julie? Yesterday, you wanted to strangle her!"  
  
"Well... you guys said I should get over it... I'm trying to get over it..."  
  
"Aww, honey." Monica gave Rachel a hug. "Tell you what. Tonight, we'll have a big girl thing, okay? You, me, Phoebe, margaritas, sappy movies in our PJ's, okay? Chandler and Joey... banned!"  
  
"Actually, Chandler was really sweet to me last night," Rachel said carefully, biting her lip. It felt so _weird_ not telling Monica, and god, how she wanted to... wanted to tell Monica everything, wanted to get her reactions, wanted to run everything Chandler had said past her for analysis.  
  
"He can be sweet," Monica said, looking over her shoulder at the receding coffeeshop. "He looked nice today, too. Phoebe gave _him_ a really good haircut, at least."  
  
"Yeah," Rachel said, thinking about how his hair had felt as she'd woven her fingers through it, pulling his lips down on hers.  
  
"Remember that first Thanksgiving he came to my house?" Monica said suddenly.  
  
"Oh, yeah...!"  
  
"God, I had the _biggest_ crush on him. Well, before he called me fat."  
  
Unease crept into Rachel's stomach. Where was this going?  
  
"Never really forgave him for that," Monica said, a strange smile on her face. "But y'know, Rach, on days like this, when he actually acts like a human being instead of a joke machine..."  
  
_Oh no, no, Monica, no..._  
  
"I kinda remember, y'know. Why I liked him so much when I met him."  
  
Monica stared off into space, and the butterflies in Rachel's stomach did swooping loops.  
  
"Anyway -- I'm sorry," Monica stammered. "I'm all blabbery about my stuff when you're so upset about Ross..."  
  
Rachel made a non-committal noise and examined her shoes closely.  
  
"But, uh... can I ask you a question?" Monica pulled at the shaggy remains of her hair nervously. "You hung out with Chandler alone for a long time last night, right?"  
  
Rachel tried not to wince. "Uh-huh..."  
  
"Did he... did he mention me at all? Say anything about me?"  
  
"Not really, Mon... sorry."  
  
"Well, uh... maybe if you get a chance like that again, you could kinda... bring me up?"  
  
"Yeah, sure! Sure, I could do that."  
  
"Thanks, sweetie." Monica slung her arm around Rachel and hugged her. "You are _such_ a good friend to me. You know that, right?"  
  
Rachel smiled painfully, returning the hug.  
  
***  
  
"Schmelly caaaaaat... schmellycat," Phoebe mumbled into a sofa pillow. "Y'know, I can't 'member the resht of the wordsht."  
  
"What are they feeding you," Rachel said, rescuing Phoebe's margarita glass from the edge of the table.  
  
"Oh, riiiiiiiiight." Phoebe turned an eye and an accusing, unsteady finger on Rachel. "You're n'drunk!"  
  
"No-no, I'm hammered," Rachel said, pulling a blanket over Monica's passed out form. "I'm just... maintaining, y'know?"  
  
"You drank s'mush as'a resht of us."  
  
_No, I just made you think that I did._ "Seriously, Pheebs. I'm gonna pass out any minute." She let out an exaggerated yawn.  
  
"Metoooo..." Phoebe curled into the fetal position, and Rachel put another blanket around her.  
  
She gathered up glasses and pitchers, straightened videos into tidy stacks. She already felt guilty enough where Monica was concerned without leaving a mess.  
  
When Phoebe's soft snores joined Monica's, Rachel slipped out the door.  
  
***  
  
"Joey?" Rachel asked as she clicked the door shut. Chandler looked up from the foosball table, eyes lighting up.  
  
"On a date." He moved towards her, arms outstretched. "I didn't think you'd make it over."  
  
She stopped his approach, both palms on his chest. "Hey, wait. Isn't that the sweatshirt I had on last night?"  
  
"Yeah, it... I was gonna put it in the laundry tonight, but it... well, it smelled like you, so." He grinned adorably, and a pang went through her. God, this... this _sucked_.  
  
"Chandler, we... we can't do this."  
  
His face crashed down. "Sobered up, huh," he said bitterly.  
  
"No, no, nothing like that, it's..."  
  
"It's Ross. It's okay." Chandler walked towards the television, keeping his back to her. "That's cool, Rach, that's fine. I mean, I've been kinda waiting for this, you've liked him for a while now, and I'm just..."  
  
"It's not Ross."  
  
"Well, if it's Joey, no offense, but... you don't have to collect the entire matching set, y'know."  
  
"Chandler, dammit, stop!"  
  
He froze, hands in pockets, his face turned towards her. What she saw on it made her feel like a professional puppy-kicker.  
  
"It's not Ross, or Joey, or anybody. It's... I didn't realize how many people we could hurt with this."  
  
The ice melted an inch. "Explain?"  
  
"Somebody... likes you. And they've liked you a lot longer than I have. And it's somebody close to me, that I _can't_ hurt, I just _can't_."  
  
He processed that a moment, shock in his eyes. "Phoebe or Monica? You do realize being vague here is just _not_ that useful."  
  
Rachel groaned. "Monica."  
  
"That's... very surprising..."  
  
"Yeah, I was surprised, too. Chandler, she's my _best_ friend. I've known her since I could walk!"  
  
"Yeah, well, Ross is one of my best friends, okay? I've known him since college." Chandler took a step forward. "And you, Rach, you were the one who gave me the speech, y'know, about the consenting adults, and this being nobody's business but ours..."  
  
"I know." Rachel collapsed in the captain's chair. "I know I did. But it's _Monica_. It's not like Ross... he has a girlfriend! And the thing is, she just gave me this little speech today about it. And if I hook up with you after the little speech... and she's not gonna know I hooked up with you _before_ it... she's gonna feel _so_ betrayed... like I knew how she felt and went after you anyway."  
  
"Ouch," Chandler sighed, leaning against a stool.  
  
"And Monica... well, Chandler... you know! She took me in when I had nowhere to go, she's helped me out so much, she's stood by me through all this crap and I... I just can't _do_ this to her."  
  
"It's worse than you know," Chandler sighed.  
  
"How could it be worse?"  
  
"Okay, I... I sort of... lied to you about something. But it's 'cause I thought you would hit me."  
  
"When did you lie to me?"  
  
"Um, remember that conversation? About the silver cloud lining, and Ross making the decision to get over you all by himself?"  
  
"Uh-huh..."  
  
"Well, uh... Ross _personally_ credits _me_ with convincing him to get over you."  
  
"Oh, Chandler," Rachel said in horror.  
  
"Well, you didn't seem interested! You had Paolo, and Ross was _hurting_, and I..."  
  
"No-no, not that! I'm not _mad_! I'm just... god, he's gonna think you talked him out of it so that..."  
  
"... I could have you," Chandler finished glumly. "Especially if he finds out from Mon, Joey, or Pheebs that you like him _back_."  
  
She wasn't sure how she felt about his use of the present tense in that sentence.  
  
"Maybe this was a stupid idea," Chandler sighed. "Too complicated, too many feelings involved."  
  
"It wasn't an _idea_ at all, Chandler," Rachel said. "How much thinking were _you_ doing?"  
  
"Um... depends on which brain you're talking about..."  
  
"So, uh... is this over?"  
  
"I guess... I guess it is." Chandler stuck his hands in his pockets.  
  
"So, well. I guess I have a pajama party to get back to. Woo-hoo." She grasped the doorhandle, trying to ignore the stinging behind her eyes. "So, um... bye."  
  
"Stay," Chandler said simply.  
  
She turned. "What?"  
  
"Stay." He stood awkwardly, pain on his face. "Please."  
  
"Do you... you really want me to?"  
  
"Look... if I'm gonna be sleeping alone and kicking myself, I at least want this sweatshirt recharged."  
  
"I don't know if I should do that."  
  
"I don't know if you should do that, either. But I want you to."  
  
She reached for the doorhandle again. Her hand hesitated... shook... and turned the door lock instead.  
  
The tumblers fastened with a thump almost as loud as the sound of her own heart in her ears.  
  
She couldn't feel her feet, but they were carrying her towards him... and his hands reached out for her, surrounding her face as he kissed her.  
  
"You taste like margaritas," he grinned, running his thumb along her cheekbone.  
  
"You taste like heaven," she whispered.  
  
Chandler looked up at her, struck. "God, Rach. This is... too sad."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, it is."  
  
He looked into her eyes, an expression on his face she couldn't define... and then he reached down, unbuttoning her pajama top slowly, button by button... mournfully, reverently... like he was lighting church candles.   
  
"Chandler... what are you doing?"   
  
He folded her shirt, laying it on the counter behind her... then grasped the hem of his own, pulling it over his head. "I'm putting this on you."   
  
And he did, with the same slow formality, gently pulling her hair out from the neckband, running his palms down her fleece-covered arms, taking her hands. "There."   
  
"Now it smells like you," she said, and was surprised to hear her voice crack.  
  
"Yeah, I know," he smiled. "You should fix that for me."   
  
"It'll just smell like us together."   
  
"That's good, too."   
  
She reached out, placing her hands on the flat of his stomach, feeling the warmth of him travel up her. "What are we doing now?"   
  
"Going to sleep?"   
  
"Is that what you want to do?"   
  
"No."   
  
And his mouth came down on hers, demanding, desperate. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him, her fingers in his hair, clawing him closer. They sank to the floor, his hand cushioning her head, the chill of the linoleum a shock against the heat of his body.  
  
_She had to remember this._ Had to remember every second of this. Had to memorize each taste, each kiss, each inch of him, his heartbeat against hers.  
  
She wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself against him as they kissed feverishly, her whole body begging, sliding her hands on his bare skin, feeling the muscles beneath roll as their bodies writhed, his hand sliding up inside her sweatshirt, every pore of her body aching for his touch.   
  
"Too many pants," she whispered, and they both burst into giggles, rolling from the kitchen to the carpet. She landed on top, the laughter still making her ribs ache.   
  
"You're the boss," Chandler grinned.   
  
"Then I'm declaring it No Pants Saturday," she laughed, pulling his sweatpants off and tossing them aside.   
  
"What, management doesn't have to follow the rules?"   
  
"Management always wants to set a good example," she teased, leaning down to nibble at his neck. "But we prefer hands-on, take-charge employees."   
  
"So noted," Chandler grinned, sliding his thumbs underneath her waistband. Her pajamas joined the growing pile in the kitchen floor, and Rachel yanked the sweatshirt up over her head, throwing it after.   
  
"But..." Chandler protested.  
  
"I want you to see me. All of me." She leaned down, teasing his chest with her own. "And I wanted to feel this."  
  
She tossed her head. "Besides -- I'm the boss."   
  
"You _are_ the boss," he agreed, eyes twinkling. "Although, this... this _might_ qualify as sexual harassment..."   
  
"Then _this_ is _really_ bad," she laughed, raising her hips and sliding down onto him, gratified to hear him suck in air, his eyes rolling back.   
  
She rolled her hips, taking him deeper, beginning a slow, swirling rhythm.   
  
"Help, help, I'm being harassed," Chandler chuckled, running his hands up her back, raising his hips to meet hers.   
  
"Just think of this as our comprehensive corporate benefits package," she teased.   
  
He burst out laughing and grabbed her, hugging her to him. "God, I lo--"  
  
He stopped short, eyes bulging as he realized what he'd almost said.   
  
She brought her lips down on his, hard, cutting off whatever he was going to say, pounding herself against him as hard as she could, raking her fingernails down his chest, feeling him moan against her mouth.   
  
"Too... you're gonna... you're gonna make..." he whispered.   
  
"I know," she growled. "I want to watch."   
  
His eyes flew wide, then closed as his neck arched, his fingers digging into her back, whispering her name.   
  
"Look at me," she commanded.   
  
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing sane in them, and a thrill of power filled her. She beat down on him, grinding herself against him, memorizing his body with her hands.   
  
And he cried out, bucking beneath her, only the whites of his eyes showing... and suddenly, with an angry roar, he was lifting her off of him, pressing her to the floor, burying his face in her, teeth and tongue moving with maddening fury, suddenly joined by fingers.   
  
She cried out, thrashing against him, spine arching. "Wha... whaddya..."   
  
"Getting you _back_ for _that_," he snarled into her.   
  
The world exploded and she screamed, shoving her fist into her mouth, biting down on her knuckles. Chandler slowed but didn't stop, slow circles building to faster ones, his fingers torturing her, unrelenting, the pressure building up again, her hands flying into his hair, caressing every part of him she could reach.   
  
"Chandler, Chandler I..."   
  
And everything went red again, her breath stopping, her hands clawing into his shoulders, the carpet burning her back as she trembled all over.   
  
And still he didn't stop, taking her thighs in his hands, burying deeper into her. Rachel gasped for breath, tried to remember her name, her whole body on fire, her muscles no longer under her control as spasm after spasm ripped through her, shaking her against the floor.   
  
"I'm gonna pass out," she whimpered.   
  
"No, you're not," he laughed.   
  
And the fingers again, pressing against places she didn't know she had, new sets of nerves taking over her brain, and she screamed again as her whole body clenched, trembling, her head thrashing, stars behind her closed eyelids.   
  
"You got me back," she moaned. "You got me back, okay?"   
  
"Not... _quite_..."  
  
He turned her over, her useless, jellied muscles putting up no protest, a limp rag in his arms... and then he drove into her, her hips in his hands, pounding furiously, so deep pain mixed with the pleasure and became pleasure again.   
  
She cried out, finding the strength to rock back against him, welcoming the onslaught, moaning his name into the floor, begging him for more and unsure if she could take it, her breasts dragging the carpet with every thrust, even more sensation swirling up into her overwhelmed brain, the force of him sending her close to the edge...   
  
And finally over it, as Chandler cried out and they both collapsed to the floor, his forehead pressed to her shoulderblades, both drenched in sweat, slippery skin sliding against each other as he rolled up on an elbow, running his fingertips over her back, tracing loops and spirals.   
  
"I can't move," she finally moaned.   
  
"Good."   
  
"I think you broke my brain."   
  
"Good."   
  
"And maybe some other stuff."   
  
"You mind?"   
  
"Hell, no." She rolled over, staring up at him. "Do you have any idea how amazing that was?"   
  
"Thought you couldn't move."   
  
"I can flop. Do you know?"   
  
"How many?" he asked, mouth twitching in a grin.   
  
Rachel held up four fingers, then let her wrist collapse back to the carpet.   
  
"That'll do," Chandler laughed.   
  
"That'll... do? Jesus, Chandler. I have never... never, _ever_..."  
  
"That was the general plan." He brushed a piece of hair from her forehead. "Don't forget me, okay?"   
  
"Oh, god...! I would never... could never... god, now I definitely can't, I'll think of you every time I see my carpet burn scars."   
  
"Oh my god, did I hurt you?" he cried, hands running over her in concern.   
  
"No-no, no, I'm fine, I was joking. I'm better than fine. I still can't move."   
  
"Well, that was a dirty little trick you pulled on me," he laughed, his thumb tracing slow circles around her breast.   
  
"I just wanted to see you," Rachel smiled.   
  
"Did you get what you wanted?"   
  
"Yes," she grinned. "Definitely, very much, yes."   
  
"Still can't move?"   
  
She tried to raise her arm off the floor. "Nope."   
  
"Good... I've always wanted to do this."   
  
He rolled up, leaning down and picking her up in his arms, carrying her into his bedroom and setting her down on the bed.   
  
"Where... where are you going?"   
  
"Gonna go brush my teeth."   
  
"No, no, no way. More you, right now." She thumped the mattress next to her.   
  
He laughed, crawling in beside her. "You're gonna regret that in the morning."   
  
She wound herself through him, leg curling over his thigh, head on his chest. "I'm not gonna regret _anything_ in the morning."   
  
He tightened his arms around her. She listened to the comforting thump of his heart beneath her ear, drifting off to sleep, her breath becoming regular and deep.   
  
"I do, though," she heard him whisper, so soft she could barely understand the words. She forced her breath to remain in rhythm, willed her body not to move. He thought she was asleep; she wasn't going to convince him otherwise.   
  
"That thing I didn't say? I do. I don't know how it happened, or why it happened so fast, but it did."   
  
He hugged her closer. "That's all."   
  
Tears stabbed her eyes, and Rachel hugged him close.   
  
"You heard," he whispered in dread.   
  
"Me too," she breathed into his chest. "Me too."   
  
"Well, crap."   
  
She laughed then, playing idly with his chest hair. "Yeah... that about sums it up."   
  
"So... can I say it?"   
  
"Maybe you shouldn't."   
  
"Can I think it?"   
  
"I can't think much else."   
  
He crushed her to him, her hands sliding to wrap around his waist.   
  
And this time when she slept, it was for real.  
  
-------------  
  
_Don't be a naughty monkey! Leave a review!_


	4. Soylent Green Is People

"Oh, hey!" Julie cried, pausing at a rack of blue satin and pulling out a negligee. "Do you guys think Ross would like this?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so... the shape's good..." Rachel said, feeling Monica and Phoebe's worried eyes burning holes into the back of her head. She pulled out a similar garment in a different color, passing it over. "I think this red would look prettier on you, though."  
  
Julie held the other garment up. "You're right -- this _is_ a better color on me. Thanks, Rachel."  
  
"Want me to see if they have anything else in that color?"  
  
"Sure!"  
  
Rachel spotted a flash of red over by the bras and headed for it, pulling it out, biting her lip. It was pretty, but a little sluttier than she thought Ross would go for...  
  
Chandler, though... Chandler might like it. She tried to imagine his reaction if he saw her in it... would he get that demonic glint in his eyes? Rip it off of her? Or better yet, _not_ rip it off of her, but just take her roughly against the door in a frenzy of...  
  
_Dammit, Rachel, stop_.  
  
Leaving him this morning had been hell. She'd snuck out early to get back before Monica and Phoebe woke up, crawling out of the warm nest of his blankets, leaving him asleep on his stomach, vulnerable and somehow younger in the light between his blinds, one arm -- so beautiful, so perfect, it had almost made her cry -- bent before him, cradling the place where she had been.  
  
She'd regretted, bitterly regretted, agreeing to this shopping trip. With Mon and Pheebs with Julie, maybe she and Chandler could have gone to a movie, gotten lunch, gone for a walk...  
  
_Oh, dear god. I've met a guy I'd rather be with than shop._  
  
_And I dumped him._  
  
"Rachel," Monica whispered.  
  
"Hey, Mon -- do you think this is sluttier than Ross would go for?"  
  
"Honey, are you okay?"  
  
"Sure..."  
  
"You're helping _Julie_ pick out clothes to have sex with _Ross_ in! I figured you'd be sobbing in a dressing room by now!"  
  
"Yeah, well..."  
  
"And... I mean... you're really _helping_! That blue was hideous! She'll look great in that red thing! What's up with you?"  
  
"So? I like to shop," Rachel said. "Oh... oh... _perfect_!"  
  
Monica trotted after her as Rachel beelined for a satin nightgown.  
  
"Check it out, Mon," Rachel said, holding the dress up. "Classy from the front... slutty from the sides! Ross won't know what hit him."  
  
"Honey, you... you _do_ know that _you're_ not wearing these, right?"  
  
"Well, _yeah_," Rachel said. "I look god-awful in this shade." She threw the dress over her arm, her hunter's eye catching a glimpse of something on the wall. "Ohhhh... I am on a _roll_! Look at me go!"  
  
"Sweetie, I'm... I'm _worried_ about you," Monica hissed, weaving through the racks after Rachel as she threw items over her arms. "I think you're in denial... that can't be healthy."  
  
"I am not in... ohhhh." Rachel broke off, staring at a dress.  
  
"I don't think..."  
  
"Oh, not for Julie, no, cut's all wrong. But Mon... look at that _color_." Rachel touched the blue-green fabric reverently, sliding it through her fingers. "Have you ever seen something so beautiful?"  
  
"Sure I have," Monica said softly. "That's the color of Chandler's eyes."  
  
Rachel jumped back as if burnt. "Huh. Is _that_ why it looked familiar." She forced brightness into her voice. "Hey, let's... let's go take these to Julie in the dressing room."  
  
Monica reached out, touching the dress, lost in thought.  
  
"Um... Mon? Earth to Mon, c'mon..."  
  
"I think I'm gonna buy this."  
  
"Well, it... it would look really good on you..."  
  
"Y'know, maybe I could start wearing it around the house, right? I mean, he just drops by all the time, and there I am in a Knicks shirt and baggy socks." Monica put the dress over her arm. "I'll go try it on."  
  
"Yeah, good... good idea."  
  
They rejoined Julie and Phoebe in the dressing room, and Rachel handed the dresses in.  
  
Julie squealed in delight behind the door. "Rachel, these are _gorgeous_! You have the _best_ taste!"  
  
"Thanks..."  
  
"Whaddya think?" Julie asked, coming out in the red one and twirling.  
  
"You look _great_," Rachel said. "Ross is gonna _freak_."  
  
"I hope so," Julie bit her lip, examining herself in the mirror.  
  
"You look awesome! Quit worrying! Try the green one."  
  
"How about this?" Monica asked, opening the dressing room door.  
  
"Oh, Mon," Rachel breathed. "You're... stunning."  
  
Monica turned slowly, and Rachel's stomach sank. Suddenly, she was in her and Monica's apartment, watching Chandler kiss Monica, watching those beautiful fingers sink into Monica's dark hair, watching Chandler slide the nightgown over her hips, a look on his face she knew all too well.  
  
_Monica_ moaning his name, _Monica's_ face pressed into the carpet, _Monica's_ fingernails raking down his back, _Monica_ holding up a weakened hand to display four fingers...  
  
Monica looked curiously into Rachel's catatonic face. "That good, or that bad?"  
  
Rachel shook her head, pasting a grin on. "You wear _that_ thing around the house too much... I might have to start going to Carol and Susan's parties."  
  
Monica laughed and slipped back into the dressing room, leaving Rachel to stare at her own reflection in the three way mirror. Monica had such beautiful, delicate bone structure, such fair skin, all that dark hair... and suddenly, Rachel felt dumpy and dark and round-faced. She touched her nose, sighing. Why hadn't she had Dr. Wilson make it just a little bit skinnier?  
  
Her thoughts were cut off by Julie, coming up behind her with an armload of clothes.   
  
"Well, I'm getting them all, and my credit cards damn you," Julie laughed. "You're some kind of shopping savant -- if I came here with you all the time, I'd have to declare bankruptcy."  
  
"It's my gift," Rachel laughed.  
  
"Hey, Rach... you ever thought about shopping, y'know... for a living?"  
  
Rachel grinned. "Back when I lived on daddy's credit cards, that _was_ my job, pretty much. Now I'm a waitress, so it's just an expensive hobby."  
  
"Huh," Julie said thoughtfully, chewing on her lip.  
  
***  
  
They walked back into the traffic of the fourth floor walkways, Julie's arms loaded down with Big Brown Bags.  
  
"Where to?" Julie asked.  
  
"I'm hungry," Phoebe said. "You wanna do Le Train Bleu?"  
  
"Sounds... oh, hang on." Julie reached into her purse for her cellphone. "Hey! No, that's great!"  
  
Julie put her finger in her ear, walking a little bit away from them. "We're on the fourth floor, right by Lingerie. Look around. Okay, that's Housewares, turn around... keep going... okay, okay I see you! I'm waving! See me?"  
  
Julie waved off into the distance, and Rachel's heart lurched as Chandler jogged up, cellphone to his ear.  
  
"Chandler, what are you... what are you doing here?" Phoebe asked.  
  
"Makin' fun of Joey in his cowboy costume," Chandler grinned, shutting his cellphone with a snap. "Ross said you guys were here, thought I'd stop by."  
  
"We were gonna eat lunch," Phoebe said.  
  
"I like lunch," Chandler smiled. "What have you guys been up to?"  
  
"Rachel's melting all my charge cards," Julie laughed, sliding her phone into her purse. "Everything she picks out for me is too perfect not to buy."  
  
"Rachel's amazing like that," Chandler agreed, and the warmth in his eyes made goosebumps spring up all over her.  
  
"If you wanna get in on some discount abuse, you should drag Rachel through the men's department with you," Julie said. "She's a miracle worker."  
  
"Sounds good," Chandler smiled. "Rach, you wanna go?"  
  
"Men's department it is!" Monica chirped.  
  
"No way, Geller," Phoebe growled, grabbing her by the wrist. "We're _eating_. I'm _starving_."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Come _on_. You too, Jules."  
  
Was it Rachel's imagination, or did Phoebe just... _wink_ at her?  
  
Chandler watched as Phoebe hauled them up the escalator and out of sight, reaching out to tuck a lock of Rachel's hair behind her ear. "You ran out on me this morning," he said softly.  
  
"Well, I... had to meet Julie..." she trailed off. Lying to him was useless. "I didn't want to blubber all over you."  
  
"I wouldn't have minded."  
  
"Well, I... I have so _little_ dignity, I like to save the scraps..."  
  
She sighed. "Why are you here, Chandler?"  
  
"Missed ya. And I really did want to make fun of Joey in his cowboy costume... but mostly, I missed ya."  
  
He squeezed her hand, dimples deepening. "C'mon... dress me up."  
  
"Huh..." she mused, stepping back, stroking her chin. "I'm thinkin'... pink sequins... maybe a tiara..."  
  
"I didn't say dress me up _as my dad_!"  
  
***  
  
"Which one of these things do I wear the tie with?" Chandler's voice came muffled through the dressing room door.  
  
"The thing that it _matches_," Rachel laughed.  
  
"Yeah, see, I'm a guy. That's not good enough."  
  
"The green thing."  
  
"They're both green!"  
  
"The one that's the _same color_ green!"  
  
"How do I tell? Help me."   
  
The dressing room door cracked, and Rachel pushed it open, inhaling involuntarily at the sight of him, standing shirtless in the black pants she'd picked out.  
  
"They're both green," he repeated.  
  
"Well, we know the pants work," she breathed, shutting the door behind her.  
  
"You don't think they're too small?" he looked in the mirror critically.  
  
"You've got the ass, babe. Show it off."  
  
"Do I?" he asked, mouth twitching, "Indeed... have the ass?"  
  
"Definitely." She shook her head, clearing it. "Now, about these shirts..." She plucked the green one off the hanger, and Chandler pulled it on, holding out his arms.  
  
"You want me to button you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Shirts are so _complicated_," he sighed melodramatically. "I need _help_."  
  
Rachel reached up, straightening his collar in the back, acutely aware that her arms were around his neck. Each breath brought the warm haze of his cologne, and his skin was so close to her lips... too close.  
  
"Hi," he whispered, staring into her eyes.  
  
"This is dangerous," she hissed back.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Rach... it's _shopping_. How could _shopping_ be dangerous?"  
  
She ignored him, her mouth set primly, buttoning buttons with shaking fingers.  
  
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Okay. That looks good. That's what you wear the tie with. And the other thing... is the one you don't. I'm outta here."  
  
She reached for the doorhandle, opening the changing room door.  
  
Chandler reached past her, forcefully shutting it again with the flat of his hand, his whole body pressing into her back, making her stomach flip. "Don't go. I need help with the tie."  
  
"You don't need any help with your ti-ii-iiiie..."  
  
He'd reached down, raking his fingernails up her thigh, kissing the back of her neck.  
  
"Oh, but I do," he murmured against her skin. "I very much need help with my tie."  
  
"Okay, see, this..." she gasped as his hands slid up her skirt...  
  
"Is exactly..." and his teeth raked over her neck...  
  
"The sort of thing..." and he entwined her fingers in his...  
  
"We should _not_..." and his teeth grazed her ear...  
  
"Be _doing_."  
  
He flipped her around, banging her up against the dressing room wall, hangers cracking against each other, his mouth hammering down on her own, blotting out any further protests. All the lights in her brain flickered out and she moaned, her arms wrapping around his neck, drawing him down to her.  
  
He kissed her jaw, the hollow of her throat, reaching underneath her to pull her into him, press her against his need. His hands ran roughly over her hips, grabbing her panties, yanking them down. She kicked them aside, wrapping her legs around his thighs, rocking herself into him, her back scrubbing against the silk of the shirts she'd picked out for him.  
  
"Chandler, we... we weren't gonna do this anymore..."  
  
"So we won't do it after this." She heard his belt jingle, heard the rustle of pants hitting the floor.  
  
"They have... they have cameras in all these dressing rooms..."  
  
"Then _wave_," he growled...  
  
And slammed into her, running his hands underneath her thighs, lifting her up, bruising her lips with his own, the slippery fabric sliding behind her as each thrust crashed her into the wall.  
  
"Chandler..." she moaned. "Oh, god, yes..."  
  
"Say it," he whispered into her ear.  
  
"Chandler..."  
  
"Say it," he commanded, pounding faster, her body and mind under attack, the thin wall shaking from the force of him.  
  
"I love you," she moaned into his neck, clinging to him.  
  
"Again."  
  
"I love you..."  
  
"_Again_."  
  
"I..."   
  
But it caught in her throat, turning into a wail as flame burst through her, her body arching, strobes exploding behind her eyelids.   
  
Chandler cried out, leaning into her, holding her there, his hands raising to her hair, turning her face to his.  
  
"I love you, too," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face.  
  
Rachel gasped for breath. "You've got a funny way of making a girl say it first."  
  
"Yeah, well," he grinned. "I'm insecure... you knew that."   
  
She slid down the wall, holding onto his neck. "Y'know... it's funny... there are some times when _you_ don't seem insecure at _all_, buddy."  
  
"That's because of you, Rach," he said seriously, then looked down. "Um... I guess I'd better buy these pants, huh?"  
  
She burst into laughter. "Yeah, that... might be a good idea."  
  
"I think these are yours," he smiled, holding up her underwear.  
  
She took them from his hand. "Seriously, though, Chandler... we can _not_ keep doing this!"  
  
"I know," he sighed. "But it's all your fault, though."  
  
"_My_ fault? You lured me in here with your tie!"  
  
"Yeah, but you left this morning. I had _plans_ for you."  
  
"Oh, did you now."  
  
"Yep... they were great plans, too. Guess now you won't ever know what they were..."  
  
"Evil," she laughed.  
  
"More evil," he grinned.  
  
"Me? What did I do?"  
  
"Just walking around looking like that is pretty evil." He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "You're a devil woman."  
  
"Oh, I am hardly..."  
  
"Devil woman," he chuckled, pulling up his pants.  
  
"I am not a..."  
  
"Devil woman."  
  
"Stop calling me..."  
  
"Devil woman."  
  
"Oh, you!" she hit him on the shoulder. "You are very bad."  
  
"But you forgive me, 'cause I've got the ass," he grinned, buckling his belt.  
  
Rachel shrieked, chasing him out into the hallway.  
  
***  
  
"There you guys are!" Phoebe cried. "Didya buy stuff?"  
  
"Got some pants," Chandler smiled. "Did you have a nice lunch?"  
  
"Yeah, we did." Julie clutched her bag nervously. "Um, Rachel... don't hate me, okay?"  
  
"Oooookay...?"  
  
"I called Eric. That's my friend that's quitting. And, well, I told him about you. And look... I know this was really forward of me to do this without asking, but... I got you an interview."  
  
"An... interview..." Rachel repeated flatly.  
  
"For the personal shopper position that Eric's quitting."  
  
Rachel's eyes flew wide. "Julie, are you serious?"  
  
"Are you mad?"  
  
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" Rachel squeaked, fanning her face before grabbing Julie in a hug and hopping up and down.  
  
"Yeah, she's pissed," Chandler grinned, scratching his nose. "Think she'll get over it, though."  
  
***  
  
Rachel pounded up the stairs two at a time, brushing past Mr. Heckles with barely a glance, throwing open the door of apartment 20.  
  
"I got the job!" she squealed, fists in the air. "I start next Monday!"  
  
"Rach, that's awesome!" Ross cried.  
  
"And I owe it all to Julie, Julie-Julie-come-here-and-let-me-hug-you!!!" Rachel bounced over, dancing around the coffee table. "I get a discount! I get sick days, actual sick days! Oh, and Mon, Mon _you're_ gonna love this -- my own insurance!!"  
  
"Goodbye, Evil Breve Lady!" Rachel screamed for joy.  
  
"What's goin' on?" Joey asked, pushing the door open. "We heard yellin'."  
  
"Joey! Joey! Julie got me a job at _Bloomingdale's_!"  
  
"It's huggin' time!" Joey bellowed, holding out his arms. Rachel ran for him, letting him hug her.  
  
"What's this?" Chandler asked, poking his head around the door.  
  
"Chandler!" She ran up, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.  
  
"Whoa-whoa, _somebody's_ a little over-excited," Chandler quipped, backing away and raising his palms defensively.  
  
She blinked as if slapped, then remembered... _crap_. "I'm just so happy!" she squealed, running back over to Joey and kissing him twice as long.  
  
"That's what I'm talkin' about," Joey said with satisfaction.  
  
"Oh, Pheebs!" Rachel cried, holding out her arms.  
  
"Yeah, no thanks," Phoebe said quickly, covering her mouth with a hand.  
  
"So, um, guys," Monica said nervously, "I, uh, I was thinking we could do something kind of fun tonight."  
  
"What's that, Mon?" Ross asked.  
  
"Um... a pajama party! Here! We could all watch videos, drink margaritas..."  
  
"That's _exactly_ what we did _last_ night," Phoebe pointed out.  
  
Monica glared. "Well, it was so much _fun_, I thought we'd do it _again_! Only this time, co-ed. Whaddya say, boys?"  
  
"Hot girls in pajamas," Joey said to Chandler.  
  
"Yeah, I'm in," Chandler laughed.  
  
"Now, when you say 'pajama party'," Joey said carefully, "Exactly how drunk do you plan to get, and will there or will there not be naked Twister?"  
  
"For god's sakes, Joe, it's not gonna be _exactly_ like 'Luscious Lesbians III'," Chandler sighed.  
  
"You don't _know_ that!" Joey cried in despair. "Will you let me work, please?"  
  
"Okay!" Monica clapped her hands. "It's settled then. Everybody, go home and change!"  
  
"Uh, Mon, that's kinda far for us, and we... well, we kinda had plans," Ross said.  
  
"Oh, that's fine, you two don't have to come," Monica said carelessly, eyes on Chandler and Joey. "You two are coming though, right?"  
  
"Joey never misses potential porn re-enactment," Chandler grinned. "We're there."  
  
"I'm gonna pass on this one too, Mon," Phoebe said. "I'm still a little drunk from last night."  
  
"Sure, okay, fine, whatever," Monica said. "Everybody, go change!"  
  
***  
  
Rachel shuffled into her room, her good mood punctured. Monica had all the subtlety of a two-by-four to the kneecaps.  
  
What the hell was she going to wear, anyway? She didn't want to look like she was trying to compete with Monica... but she didn't want to look like a total slob, either... not in front of Chandler.  
  
She peered into the mirror of her vanity, blinking at the sight of something behind her on the bed.  
  
She turned around. Chandler's sweatshirt lay across her bed, a note on top.  
  
She picked it up, a smile touching the corners of her mouth.  
  
_I thought maybe we could share custody.  
-- Chandler_  
  
Rachel pulled her dress off and slid the sweatshirt over her head, breathing in deeply, running her hands down her torso. She threw herself down on the bed, cuddling a pillow, closing her eyes, imagining he was there.  
  
"Rach, could you make the margaritas? I'm trying to make my hair do stuff!" Monica's voice called through the wall.  
  
"Sure, Mon...!"  
  
Rachel threw on a pair of sweatpants and padded into the kitchen.  
  
"Oh, god," Chandler breathed.  
  
"Hey, I... I didn't know you were here already..."  
  
"Sweatpants, t-shirt, ten seconds max," Chandler grinned. He plucked at her shoulder. "You trying to torture me?"  
  
"In a sweatshirt? No..." She tried to make her voice behave. "C'mon, help me make the margaritas."  
  
She pulled out the blender and Chandler came up behind her, reaching for the margarita mix in the cabinet above her head. It flattened his body against hers, and she sucked in breath, memories of the afternoon pounding through her skull.  
  
"I know... _exactly_... what watching you take that off is like," he breathed in her ear, sending shivers from her scalp to her toes. "Torture."  
  
"Ohh... don't _do_ that..." she begged under her breath.  
  
He put his hands on her hips, her whole body molding to his. "I'm sorry about earlier."  
  
"No, I'm sorry, I was excited and... stupid..."  
  
"Watching you kiss Joey was the worst five seconds of my life," he whispered.  
  
It was taking all her effort not to lean back into him, turn around, kiss him...  
  
And mercifully, Chandler stepped away, pulling a lime out of the fruit basket and cutting it into slices.  
  
"Hey, everybody," Monica called, leaning against the doorway.  
  
"Damn, Mon," Chandler whistled. "I didn't know it was gonna be _that_ kind of slumber party..."  
  
"What? I sleep in this all the time," Monica laughed, waving her hand dismissively.  
  
"Bet that price tag's uncomfortable," Chandler laughed.  
  
"Ohh, man!" Monica brayed. "How many months has _that_ been on there, huh! No wonder it always feels tickly!" She shot Rachel a look. "Rach, hon, would you come get this tag off me?"  
  
"Sure, Mon." Rachel pulled scissors out of the tool jar and snipped the tag off the back of Monica's dress.  
  
"Okay, you _have_ to _change_," Monica hissed in her ear.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I look overdressed and stupid! Go put on something like this, _please_?" Monica raised her voice anxiously. "Thanks, Rach! Now that Chandler's here, why don't _you_ go put on _your_ pajamas?"  
  
Rachel went to her room, taking off the sweatshirt with a sigh, spreading it carefully across her bed. She searched her closet, finally reappearing in her doorway.  
  
She hoped Monica didn't notice that Chandler dropped the lime he was holding.  
  
"Guess I need to finish the margaritas," she said weakly, feeling half-naked and exposed, the air raising goosebumps on her bare shoulders. She walked back over to the blender, accepting the ice tray Chandler handed her, suddenly feeling much less cold in the heat of Chandler's stare.   
  
"Evil, evil, you are _evil_," he growled.   
  
"Monica _made_ me," she hissed.  
  
"Okay," Joey announced, bursting through the doorway. "I brought the Twister, and it took me thirty minutes to find it, and I stubbed my toe doin' it, but I don't want you guys to feel like there's _any_ pressure..." he trailed off, seeing Rachel and Monica. "Oh holy crap!"  
  
"Tell me about it," Chandler muttered.  
  
"Okay, well, let's watch some movies!" Monica cried. "Joey, what'd you bring?"  
  
"Twister..."  
  
"Joey, you were supposed to bring _movies_."  
  
"Ohhh... yeah, I've got a great one..."  
  
"Not porn!"  
  
"You're hot, but you're _no_ fun," Joey groused, slamming the apartment door.  
  
"I'll be right back," Monica said, walking into the bathroom.  
  
A breath, and Rachel found herself slammed up against the refrigerator, Chandler's mouth hard on hers, one hand dragging the silk of her nightgown up her thigh as the other curled into her hair, crushing her to him. She grabbed him, hands pressing against his back, pulling him even closer, her mouth opening under his...  
  
Click.  
  
And Chandler was back over at the chopping block, whistling softly, a look of total innocence on his face any altar boy would envy.  
  
Rachel pried herself off the magnets, shaking her head, pressing the blender button and letting the hideous noise clear the hormones as Monica walked out of the bathroom and began fluffing pillows on the couch.  
  
She snuck a look over at Chandler. He grinned mischievously.  
  
***  
  
"It's cold in here," Monica sighed, cuddling up against Chandler's shoulder and rubbing her hand on his arm.  
  
"You want another blanket, Mon?"  
  
"We have plenty."  
  
"I'll put one more on." Chandler reached behind him and dragged the throw down, arranging it over the three already covering them.  
  
"Here, Mon, ya need body heat?" Joey wrapped his arm around her. "There, now ya got the full sandwich effect."  
  
"Hey, Joe, wouldya turn that lamp off?" Chandler asked. "Glares on the screen."  
  
"You want it all the way dark in here, or mostly dark?"  
  
"All the way dark. Can see the movie better."   
  
Joey clicked the lamp twice, and the room went black except for the TV glow.  
  
"Thanks, man."  
  
Rachel sat stiffly at the end of the couch, ignoring the movie, picking at her nails in the darkness, feeling her guts twist inside her. As guilty as she felt for the whole Chandler thing... that wasn't stopping her from wanting to scratch Monica's eyes out right now.  
  
She sighed, closing her eyes, leaning her head back. What the hell was she going to do?  
  
Something brushed her thigh... then trailed softly up it.  
  
Her eyes popped open, flicking over to Chandler. In the blue reflected light, his poker face was flawless, his eyes on the movie, his movement impossible to discern beneath the heap of blankets, pillows, and popcorn bowls.  
  
The hand slid slowly, ever higher up her skirt, leaving a trail of warmth behind it... then trailed across, resting on her inner thigh, spreading heat.  
  
"Bruce Willis _rocks_," Joey sighed.  
  
"Yeah, he does," Chandler agreed wholeheartedly.  
  
Two more agonizing inches. Rachel yawned and stretched, throwing her right leg over the sofa arm, leaning back against Chandler's bicep, pulling the blanket up to her neck.  
  
A ghost of a smile appeared on Chandler's face.  
  
"Now, wait, what's he looking for?" Joey asked, eyes on the screen.  
  
The fingers crept higher, searching for the elastic at her hip.  
  
"Whatever he's looking for, he's not going to find it. It's not there," Rachel sighed.  
  
Chandler's smile widened, and the fingers began to move... dipping, pressing, teasing, setting up a slow, steady rhythm.  
  
Rachel reached out, dragging her fingernails up Chandler's thigh a centimeter at a time, keeping her breathing steady, keeping her eyes on Bruce as he ran through hallways.  
  
"Turn it up, Joe," Chandler said, and Joey raised the remote.  
  
"But the loud part's starting!" Monica protested.  
  
"Loud part's the best part," Joey grinned. "We always turn it up here."  
  
Explosions filled the screen and the room, and Rachel bit her lip as the pressure and speed on her doubled, struggling to keep still and quiet, her breath getting ragged. She gripped the sofa arm, knuckles turning white, the sound of burning buildings thudding in her head along with the beating of her heart.  
  
_Couldn't... move... had to be quiet... had to be still..._  
  
Her eyes closed, her lips parted, and she let out a soft gasp, her nails digging into Chandler's thigh, the world going Technicolor behind her eyelids. He watched her face, smiling gently.  
  
"Joey!" Monica cried, sitting straight up. "Turn it _down_!"  
  
"Hang on, hang on, gotta find the remote..."  
  
"You _just_ had it!"  
  
Chandler grinned down at Rachel, taking advantage of the distraction, plucking her hand off his thigh and raising it to his lips.  
  
"Love you," he mouthed silently.  
  
She curled up against him, their hands still joined under the camoflauge of blankets, her head on his shoulder, watching Monica and Joey bicker. Chandler squeezed her hand, and she placed a silent kiss on his arm. 


	5. That's Bad For The Paper Tray

Several verbatim and not-so-verbatim quotes and plots from various episodes (204-206 and 809, among others) in this one.  
  
Canon scenes slightly edited to account for character backstory (namely, Ross being Chandler's college roommate) that hadn't been written into the show at the time.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Knock knock knock knock knock.  
  
Rachel peeled one eye open, blinking in the light of her window.  
  
Knock knock knock knock knock.  
  
"Monicaaaaaa..." she called hoarsely. Mon woke up at dawn to run, which, in Rachel's opinion, was a crime against God _and_ the snooze alarm. It also meant Mon was in charge of anyone _knocking_ at the _obscene_ hour of...  
  
Rachel eyed the clock. Noon.   
  
Yeah, well.  
  
"Comiiiiing," she groaned, stumbling out of her room and towards the door, yanking it open. "What?"  
  
"Um, hi," a small blonde man in a tan jacket said, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Um... sorry to wake you up... I'm looking for Phoebe Buffay... does she still live here?"  
  
Rachel rubbed her eyes. "No, but we're friends, I can get a message to her..."  
  
"Great. Um... just tell her that her husband stopped by, okay?"  
  
The man pressed the bouquet into Rachel's hands.  
  
"Sure, yeah, I'll tell her... thanks," Rachel mumbled, shutting the door... and then falling against it, jaw open, as her sleep-numbed, margarita-soaked neurons connected.  
  
"Holy crap," Rachel whispered. "Holy...!"  
  
***  
  
"I can't _believe_ you didn't tell me!" Monica shrieked.  
  
"Oh, c'mon... like you tell me everything," Phoebe snapped.  
  
"What have I not told you?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know... how about the fact that the underwear out there on the telephone pole is _yours_ from when you were having sex with Fun Bobby out on the terrace!"  
  
Rachel gasped, following Joey and Ross to the window. Now that she thought about it... that underwear _did_ look familar...!  
  
"Wait a minute," Monica hissed. "Who told you?"  
  
She whirled on Chandler. "You are dead meat!"  
  
"I didn't know it was a... _big_ secret..." Chandler said sheepishly.  
  
"Oh, it's not big," Monica snapped. "Not at all, y'know, kinda along the same lines as, say, oh, I dunno, having a third nipple?"  
  
Phoebe gasped. "You have a third nipple?"  
  
"Yoooooou bitch," Chandler growled.  
  
"Whip it out, whip it out!" Ross cried, bouncing up and down on the couch.  
  
"You've seen it!" Chandler snapped. "C'mon, there's nothing to see, it's just a tiny bump, it's totally useless!"  
  
"I can't believe you!" Joey cried. "You told me it was a nubbin!"  
  
"Joey..." Ross sighed, "What did you think a _nubbin_ was?"  
  
"I dunno, you see somethin', you hear a word, I thought that's what it was! Lemme see it again!"  
  
"So what's it shaped like?" Phoebe demanded. "Is there a hair on it?"  
  
"What happens if you flick it?" Joey laughed.  
  
"Yeah, Chandler," Rachel teased, reaching out and popping her fingernails against it. "Does it do anything... special?"  
  
"Why yes, Rach, pressing my third nipple opens the delivery entrance to the Magical Land of Narnia," Chandler drawled.  
  
"C'mon, let us see!" Monica cried.  
  
"Bring out the nubbin!" Phoebe laughed.  
  
"Hey, knock it off, knock it..." Chandler turned, pointing desperately, "Joey was in a porno movie!"  
  
Everyone gasped.  
  
"If I'm going down, I'm takin' _everybody_ with me," Chandler said defensively.  
  
Phoebe and Monica ran over to Joey, and Rachel picked up her glass, headed back to the kitchen. Joey in a porno...? Why was she just not that surprised?  
  
Her spine prickled, and she turned around.  
  
Ross... was staring at her.   
  
Why was Ross staring at her?   
  
After a moment, he jumped off the couch and jogged over. "You, uh, you need some help with that?"  
  
"This one glass?" she held it up. "No, thanks, it's under control."  
  
"So, uh... that's pretty crazy, huh? With the third nipple, right?"  
  
Rachel ran her glass under the tap. "You've seen it before, though. Probably not that exciting."   
  
"Well yeah, sure, I was his roommate. The uh, the thing that _was_ exciting, well, uh, I don't mean exciting exactly but... the _interesting_ thing, the um, kind of _surprising_ thing, um... see, I couldn't help but notice that, uh..."  
  
Rachel rinsed the glass, fighting an impatient sigh. _Grass_ grew faster than Ross talked sometimes.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well I, um, I was, uh..."  
  
Now Rachel did sigh. "Ross! For god's sake, spit it out!"  
  
"How'd you know where it was?"  
  
Rachel nearly dropped the glass, her brain going blank.  
  
"Know where... what was?"  
  
"The nipple. On Chandler's body."  
  
"I don't know where it is," she said carefully.  
  
"Um, yeah, I uh, I hate to contradict you there, Rach, but uh -- ya _flicked_ it. We were, uh, _discussing_ the flicking, and you, well, you just kinda reached over and, well, ya _did_ it."  
  
"I reached over and flicked him, yeah..."  
  
"No-no, no, no, see, you didn't flick _him_, you flicked _it_. _Snipers_ should be that accurate."  
  
"I hit it?"  
  
"You nailed it."  
  
Rachel shrugged. "Huh. Go fig."  
  
"You know, uh, if anyone were to say to me, um, 'Hey Ross, hypothetically speaking, uh, where would you guess a third nipple would be', y'know, it really wouldn'ta been _there_."  
  
Rachel focused on the glass, keeping her voice light. "I thought that's where they _all_ were."  
  
"Um, yeah, in your, uh, your extensive third nipple research?"  
  
"It's where my _grandpa's_ was," Rachel said in exasperation. "What are you getting at, Ross?"  
  
"Your, uh... your grandpa had one?" A spark of hope filled Ross' eyes.  
  
"Yeah, Grandpa Green," Rachel sighed, settling into the lie, letting irritation fill her voice. "Right on his side, where... I'm _guessin'_ from your little _freak-out_ here... Chandler's is."  
  
"Right." Ross ran his thumb over the counter. "Right. Cool. Got it."  
  
"Is there a problem?"  
  
"No, uh... no problem. I'm just, y'know. Freaked out, 'cause... 'cause Joey's in a porno. Whooo! Mind-blower!"  
  
Monica yanked Chandler into the kitchen, backing him up against the counter. "I can't _believe_ you told everyone about the underwear!"  
  
"I'm sorry Mon, I figured you'd already told everyone..."  
  
"Yeah, well... you owe me for that one, buddy," Monica said, her voice dropping to a sultry register, her hands sliding down his tie. "I'll be thinkin' of ways you can make that up to me."  
  
Rachel's grip on the glass tightened, her lips compressing. Ross searched her face, not liking what he found there.  
  
"Y'know, I, uh... I'll getcha somethin' nice," Chandler said uneasily. "Some, uh, attachments for your blender."  
  
"We'll talk," Monica replied coyly, patting his stomach and walking away, hips swinging.  
  
"So, uh... I was thinkin' we could do somethin' different, hang out at my place tonight," Ross said, his eyes flickering between Monica, Rachel, and Chandler. "I'd love for you guys to spend more time with Julie."  
  
"Sounds great," Rachel said, trying to force down the bile in her throat.  
  
"And I know what movie we can watch," Chandler laughed.  
  
"Joey's porn?" Monica grinned, staring brazenly at Chandler. "Sounds _exciting_."  
  
The phone rang, and Chandler lunged for it. "Hello?"  
  
He put her hand over the receiver, holding it out to Ross. "Guys, it's your parents."  
  
Ross walked towards the window with the phone, Monica trailing afterwards. "Hey, Dad!"  
  
Chandler leaned against the counter, lowering his voice. "How long you gonna wash that glass?"  
  
"Until I quit wanting to _break_ it and _use_ it as a _weapon_."  
  
"Okay, you _know_ that was not my idea, right?"  
  
"Yes," she sighed.  
  
"I will figure something out, okay?"  
  
"It might be too late for that."  
  
"Wha... whaddya mean?  
  
"Ross noticed the flicking. Specifically, he noticed the... _accuracy_ of the flicking."  
  
"Oh god... I didn't even think about that. What did you say?"  
  
"I think I put him off. But we _have_ to be more careful."  
  
"How are we going to do that? Rach, 'Horny and Desperate' is practically my tombstone inscription, okay? Isn't anyone going to think it's weird that I'm _running_ from Monica? She's not exactly bein' subtle!"  
  
"So maybe you _don't_ run from Monica," Rachel said.  
  
"Is that what you _want_?"  
  
"No! But we're kind of in a corner here, Chandler!"  
  
"Maybe this is stupid," Chandler groaned, running his fingers through his hair.  
  
"It _is_ stupid! But _think_ about it for a minute, Chandler. Think about _Ross_. Think about _Monica_. Think about how they're gonna _feel_, how pissed they're gonna be. There has to be a better time... there just _has_ to be."  
  
Rachel set the glass on the sideboard. "And we have to be better, Chandler. No more pushing me up against the fridge, no more little under-the-blanket adventures. We could _so_ have gotten caught."  
  
"I know." Chandler kicked at the floor with his toe. "I know, okay? But this sucks. This just... sucks."  
  
"So we wait, and then maybe it won't suck."  
  
"I'll figure something out," Chandler said, pushing himself off the counter. "I will _figure_ something _out_."  
  
Ross hung up the phone. "Hey, you guys, guess what? Our parents want to have all of us over to dinner at their house for my birthday!"  
  
"What?" Monica cried. "They didn't even remember _my_ birthday! Besides, we already had stuff planned!"  
  
"I think dinner at your parents' house sounds _great_!" Phoebe chirped.  
  
"And by _great_, I mean _free_, and not _sixty-five dollars apiece_," she whispered to Joey.  
  
"Oh-oh-oh I think that's a great idea too!" Joey cried. "Let's do that! I am all about some doin' that!"  
  
"Chandler?" Monica cried.  
  
"Well, I mean, Mon, we did have some stuff planned, but if this is what Ross wants to do..."  
  
"Ya gotta go with what the birthday boy wants to do!" Joey insisted, high-fiving Phoebe behind the couch.  
  
***  
  
"Well, Mom," Monica said in disgust, sliding plates into the dishwasher. "You guys _really_ outdid yourselves this year."  
  
"Well, nothing's too good for our boy..."  
  
Jack brushed past Judy and gave her a sharp pinch.  
  
"And your promotion, of _course_, dear. We're celebrating that too. We just didn't have time to decorate for it... I mean, you, getting promoted, it was such a _surprise_...!"  
  
"Wow, the uh, the giant poster of Ross' head... that's fantastic." Chandler gestured to the monstrosity currently dominating the sideboard.  
  
"I got a _scanner_," Jack Geller said proudly.  
  
"So you did," Chandler said, rocking back and forth, hands in his pockets. "So you did. I'd actually kinda, um, guessed that, from the, uh, 'Ross' head' party napkins."  
  
"Oh, they do _everything_ at Kinko's nowadays," Judy sighed happily, touching a corner of the colossal poster lovingly.  
  
"Do they put twenty-eight-year-olds up for adoption?" Monica muttered.  
  
"What's that, darling?" Judy called.  
  
"I was just admiring the little Ross paper dessert plates."  
  
"Oh yes, your father did a _lovely_ job... who's ready for coffee?"   
  
***  
  
"Okay, what are _you_ doing moping out here?" Monica asked, setting down at the other edge of the porch swing. "You're the one with their face on the spoons! This mope belongs to me, buddy."  
  
"I dunno," Ross sighed. "Just thinkin', I guess."  
  
"Thinkin' bout what?"  
  
"Mon? Have you noticed something... something kinda weird between Rachel and Chandler lately?"  
  
"Not really..."  
  
"I'm really startin' to think she... y'know... _likes_ him."  
  
Monica laughed. "Not possible."  
  
"How, um... how do you know that?"  
  
"Because I happen to _know_ she likes someone else."  
  
"O-oh really? Um, um, whom?"  
  
"Can't say."  
  
"Aw, Mon, c'mon... tell me."  
  
"I can't, seriously... she'd kill me."  
  
"Who'm I gonna tell? C'mon."  
  
"Ross, I can't! Let it go!"  
  
"Just tell me why you can't tell me!"  
  
"Because you know him."  
  
"Do I know him well?"  
  
"Very well."  
  
"And it isn't Chandler?"  
  
"It's _definitely_ not Chandler."  
  
"Joey?"  
  
"God, no!"  
  
"Mon," Ross laughed. "What guys are in the group besides Joey, Chandler, and..."  
  
He broke off, a look of wonder on his face. "Me?"  
  
"Oh god, I am _so_ dead," Monica groaned, leaning against the swing chain.  
  
"Rachel. Rachel _Green_. _Rachel Green_ likes... me?"  
  
"I wasn't supposed to tell you! She went to meet you at the airport to tell you she loved you, and there you were with Julie..."  
  
"Oh my god!"  
  
"And she's been _so_ weird, Ross, I mean, I've been _really_ worried about her."  
  
"All this time I've been with Julie, Rachel's been..."  
  
"Yeah, Ross! And there you were, y'know, 'you hang up first!', 'noo, you hang up first!'... d'ya know, she went out and got totally trashed at some bar that night?"  
  
"She loves me?"  
  
"Well, yeah! But you're with Julie!"  
  
"_Julie_," Ross repeated, his face forlorn.  
  
"And Julie's _great_, and Rachel's _trying_ to be happy for you, Ross, she really is. Do you know, when we went shopping yesterday... she helped Julie pick out lingerie? I mean, can you _imagine_, you, going to help _Paolo_... pick out _boxers_ to sleep with _Rachel_ in?"  
  
"Oh, god," Ross said in horror. "What do I do, Mon? What do I do?"  
  
"Well, I guess you... I guess you make a decision," Monica sighed, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know this can't be easy."  
  
"Rachel Green," Ross mumbled. "_Rachel Green_."  
  
"Honey, are you gonna be okay?"  
  
"I've... I've gotta think. Um, I'll be back."  
  
***  
  
Ross pushed open his bedroom door, fumbling for the switch, bright light flaring up on a scene frozen in time. Science Olympiad trophies... his dresser-top filled with Star Wars models... his keyboard gleaming in a corner... his old backpack dangling from a peg, its faded "Geology Rocks" sticker peeling and worn.  
  
He opened the closet, pressing aside the rows of many-zippered pants and day-glo shirts, making space for himself, reaching down to trace the outline of the small door that led to the attic crawlspace.  
  
He swallowed hard and opened it, reaching his hand inside, praying a prayer against spiders.  
  
The flashlight was where he'd left it, still hanging from a bent nail. He tapped the case, pressed the button, and -- unbelievably -- light burst out of the end.  
  
He found himself suddenly hoping like hell that Judy didn't come up here every few months and change the batteries.  
  
Ross stuck the flashlight in his waistband and crawled through the door, standing up, knees popping.  
  
This had been the secret headquarters of the "I Hate Rachel Green" club, where he and Will and Takaka had met religiously... until Will got too big to fit through the door and started pretending to be too busy.  
  
And once the club had disbanded, this room had become... something else.  
  
The photos had been Will's idea; Will got a perverse glee out of blackening Rachel's teeth, drawing on horns, occasionally doodling in the tiny-weenie. Will had made endless copies of yearbook photos in the library, papering these walls with them.  
  
Ross' flashlight spun, making bright halos of Rachel's past.  
  
Rachel doing the splits, Rachel giving a speech as Class President, Rachel in her Homecoming Queen banner. Rachel beaming at a pizza party, Rachel and Chip in a lip-lock, Rachel at Prom... and taped on top, Will's personal masterpiece: a huge enlargement of Rachel's senior picture, taped to a Playboy centerfold... with a bit extra added that Will had clipped from a magazine he'd found in his mother's dresser drawer.  
  
Ross turned from Will's wall, and faced his own.  
  
He'd told Will he was waiting to deface these pictures for when he thought of something really awful to do, but the truth was... he'd just liked to stare at her. Up here, in the stale attic air, listening to Will rant and rave... at least he'd been _talking_ about her, freely and openly, no one giving him _the look_, that _poor delusional geek_ look.  
  
His pictures of Rachel were all beautiful.  
  
He crossed the tiny room, stooping against the ceiling beams, breathing dust, reaching out to touch a yellowed clipping from the school paper, a worn wallet photo, a tattered Xerox.  
  
_Rachel Green was in love with him._  
  
God. He'd wanted her _so long_, so badly... would have given anything to have her, to touch her, to have her simply remember his name occasionally.  
  
_And she was in love with him._  
  
A burst of noise downstairs; he needed to get back to the party, but... this room, this secret part of his heart, kept him rooted in place. So many years...  
  
"Sweetie?"  
  
Ross jumped, dropping the flashlight. He scrambled for it, hitting his head on a beam, crying out.  
  
"Julie? Julie, honey... what are you doing here?"  
  
"Happy Birthday!" she cried, sticking her head through the door and grabbing the flashlight. "Sorry I scared you, hon... I came back early from New Mexico as a surprise! So, surprise!"  
  
"Oh, I am... I am surprised," Ross groaned, holding his head. "Just back out and let me come through, okay?"  
  
"What's in here?" Julie asked, pulling herself further through the hole. "Was this your little hidey-hole as a kid? How cute!"  
  
"No, no, it's a very, very dangerous place, w-with spiders, and an unsteady floor! Let's get out of here, okay?"  
  
"I _love_ hidey-holes," Julie grinned, pulling her feet through and standing up. "I used to have the _best_ one in this hollow tree in our backyard..."  
  
She turned on the flashlight, and Ross shuddered. A white circle illuminated a picture of Rachel and Monica at Prom.  
  
"Oh, pictures of your friends! Ross, how sweet!"  
  
"Yeah, it's super-sweet, let's go..."  
  
"Oh my god... Monica's huge!"  
  
"Yes, she was very large, we have much better pictures downstairs, c'mon..."  
  
"Ohh... there's Rachel! Wow, what a nose! And another one of Rachel... oooh, do you have any of Joey? I bet he was so cute as... okay, more Rachel, more Rachel... geez, Ross..."  
  
"Julie, I don't want to be up here anymore, okay? I am claustrophobic, and I..."  
  
Julie swung the flashlight around to the other wall, and gasped. Will's monstrosity shone in the beam of light, the glossy magazine pages reflecting Julie's look of horror.  
  
"Ross, what... what _is_ this?"  
  
The flashlight swung methodically around the room, each inch illuminated in a precise grid pattern. He'd seen Julie sweep digs like this... and then he blinked as the flashlight shone directly into his eyes.  
  
"Ross," Julie whispered, heartbreak in her voice. "You're... you're _crazy_."  
  
"Honey, I'm _not_, I can _explain_..."  
  
Julie backed away from him. "You... tacked a _penis_ on _Rachel_..."  
  
"It was a joke! It was a club! Honey, just hear me out..."  
  
"Don't _call_ me that," Julie said, voice trembling. "I... oh my god. I have to get out of here..."  
  
"Julie, wait..."  
  
She dropped the flashlight, slipping through the door easily, and Ross cursed his height as he tried to cram himself through the small hole in the darkness, hearing the sound of her feet pounding down the stairs.  
  
"Julie!" he screamed. "Julie, wait!"  
  
And finally he was through, running down the stairs after her, pounding out onto the porch. Julie was half-in her little Honda, tears streaming down her face.  
  
"Don't call me, Ross," she said. "I mean it. I _will_ get a restraining order. Maybe Rachel should get one, too." She threw herself into the driver's seat, starting the engine.  
  
He ran in front of the car, slamming his hands down on the hood. "Julie, let me explain...!"  
  
"Get out of the way, Ross!"  
  
"Julie, I _won't_! You _have_ to listen to me!"  
  
Ross stumbled forward as Julie reversed violently, spinning her car around, taking off down the street.  
  
Ross turned. Everyone was on the porch, staring.  
  
"Son, what _happened_?" Jack asked.  
  
"Um... y'know... lover's quarrel," Ross mumbled. "She'll get over it."  
  
"Dude, that didn't look anything _like_ a 'get over it' kinda thing," Joey said. "What the hell?"   
  
"It's a long story. I dunno." Ross sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. "Maybe... maybe it's for the best, in a weird kinda way... like a sign, y'know?"  
  
"Well, uh... let's go in," Monica said awkwardly, pushing on Joey and Chandler's shoulders. "C'mon, guys, let's... let's give him a minute."  
  
"Actually, um, Rach... couldya stay?" Ross asked.  
  
Rachel played with her necklace nervously. "Sure, sure Ross... what's up?"  
  
"I need..."  
  
Ross took a deep breath.  
  
"I need to talk to you." 


	6. Sunday Brunch With Auntie

"Here we go," Rachel thought, her eyes on Ross as he shuffled nervously up the porch steps, her adrenaline rising in her throat. Her hands clutched out for the railing, her eyes roaming frantically, hunting distractions, putting off the moment.  
  
Ross moved into the porch light, extending his hand. "C'mon... let's go for a walk."  
  
She slid her hand into his, letting him pull her down the stairs, across the flagstones, through the archway. Rachel inhaled deeply; she'd spent a lot of time in this garden... not so much appreciating the roses as being scratched by them, throwing pebbles at Monica's window, trying to convince her straight-and-narrow best friend to come out and live a little.   
  
She remembered: Monica's pale, puffy face at the window, shaking vigorously, biting her lip. Rachel could always tell Monica _wanted_ to go, and that was why she always came back, ruining shoes in the mud between begonias and daylilies, morning glories and bleeding heart, for the same answer: Monica was too scared.  
  
And now that fear, that anticipation, that dread... was Rachel's own.  
  
It was too dark to read Ross' face, and maybe that was why he'd brought her out here; she could only imagine how hard this was for him.   
  
That didn't make her want to run away any less.  
  
"Yeah, uh... why don't... why don't we sit here," Ross stammered, and Rachel's knees touched bench. She sat down, warily, poised for flight, and heard the bench groan underneath Ross' weight.  
  
"Rachel, I know this is... kinda weird..."  
  
_Chink_.  
  
Rachel's ears pricked. She knew that sound, had lived with her father too long to ever forget that sound. _That_ was a Zippo lighter...  
  
And several yards behind Ross' shoulder, light flared... and Rachel caught just a glimpse of cupped, elegant hands. A red dot glowed brighter, went dim, swung in a low arc and hung there.  
  
_Get me out of this_, she thought frantically at the glowing ember.  
  
It raised. Glowed. Lowered.  
  
She was on her own.  
  
"So... uh... Ross," Rachel said, running her fingers over the back of the bench. "What, uh... what happened with Julie?"  
  
"It's a long story," he sighed. "And it's... not what I want to talk to you about."  
  
"Well, I think we _should_ talk about it... don't you? It's important, um. To, y'know. Vent your feelings."  
  
"Well... that's what I'm doing. Venting the feelings. Only... different ones. Ones that I should have vented a long time ago, maybe."  
  
Sparks in the distance; a nervous flick. Ash fell to the ground.  
  
"Rachel, I... I talked to Monica." Ross paused. The cigarette flared. "I, well, I... Rach, I know about the airport."  
  
"LaGuardia?" Rachel asked innocently. "What about it?"  
  
"Um. I think you _know_."  
  
"Well. Uh." Rachel picked at a loose splinter of wood. "How do you, uh, feel about that?"  
  
"Um. Good. And kinda, also... terrified." Ross sighed. "Rachel, why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I didn't know! And then you, you got back, and things were..." her eye flashed unconsciously to the glow in the distance, "... complicated."  
  
"Julie," Ross said flatly.  
  
"Among... among other things."  
  
Ross let out a defeated breath. "Well, I... I think it's pretty safe to say that Julie... is out of the picture."  
  
"You can't know that, Ross," Rachel said quickly. "Anything is fixable, right? What's she so upset about? Come on." She moved to touch his hand, and thought better of it.  
  
"Well... you. Sort of." Ross cleared his throat. "Mostly."  
  
"Oh, no..."  
  
"Well, Rach... maybe it... maybe it happened for a reason, y'know? I mean, I find out you like me, and five minutes later, y'know... exit Julie. Don't you think that's kinda... kinda like a... I dunno, a sign, or something?"  
  
"A sign." Rachel looked out, watched the ember hover, poised, waiting. "I don't know about that, Ross."  
  
"Look, Rachel, I'm... I'm kinda having a bad night here, okay? So if you could, y'know, not be vague... that'd be nice."  
  
"I know, Ross... honey. I know." And now she did touch his hand. "That's what I'm saying. Maybe this... maybe this isn't the best time, right? I mean, you and Julie broke up, what? Fifteen minutes ago? We can talk about this later."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Ah, the patented Glum Ross voice. She hated herself for causing it... but what could she do? Dump on him for the second time tonight? Lie to him?  
  
Sparks falling onto the pebbles. She wished she could see Chandler's face...  
  
"Ross, I just think... um. I think maybe you should take your time, y'know? Not rush into anything. Let yourself mourn."  
  
"Yeah, okay, yeah... good idea."  
  
Rachel let out a small sigh of relief... and then Ross grabbed her hand.  
  
"Rach. Rach. Tell me something, though. When I'm done... mourning, or whatever... are you gonna be there? I need to know that."  
  
The dot in the distance froze.  
  
"Ross, I... I... I don't know what to..."  
  
"It doesn't have to be that complicated, Rachel. When I'm, y'know, a reasonable amount of time has passed so that you don't think I'm on the, the rebound, or whatever... will you, or will you not, go on a date with me? Movies, dinner, maybe a picnic. Yes, or no. It's that simple."  
  
Her heart thudded in her ears. _God, he's just been dumped..._  
  
"Yes," she whispered. "Sure. Yeah..."  
  
Ross leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers.  
  
The glow in the distance was thrown to the ground, smashed out violently.  
  
And Chandler was gone.  
  
***  
  
"Hey, everybody," Ross called, pulling her back inside. "You guys ready to get back?"  
  
_Let go of my hand, Ross... let go of my hand..._  
  
"Joey and I are ready," Phoebe said, rising to get her coat. "Monica and Chandler... already left."  
  
"When... when did they do that?" Rachel kept her voice as light as she could.  
  
"Just a minute ago... there's some birthday party for one of the other chefs at Monica's restaurant."  
  
"You didn't go?"  
  
"No, but maybe _you_ should," Phoebe said pointedly.  
  
"Rach... why don't ya... why don't you hang out with me tonight?" Ross said, pulling her closer to him. "C'mon... we can rent movies or something... pop some popcorn..."  
  
"Monica's little party-thing sounds fun," Rachel said, trying to worm her hand out of his grip.  
  
"Look, I think if Monica had wanted us to come, she would have _told_ us about it. I'm not in a really... party place anyway."  
  
"Hey, if you need someone to vent to, Ross, I'm the master," Phoebe said, trying to take Ross' other hand. "_And_ I give massages..."  
  
"Yeah, I... I think I'll stick with Rach." Ross pulled Rachel even closer.  
  
***  
  
"This still doesn't _taste_ like it has any alcohol in it," Chandler said, raising his glass with a slightly unsteadily hand.  
  
"That's 'cause it's the good stuff," Monica smiled, leaning across him for the bottle, letting her breasts brush his arm. "You can't taste the good stuff... that's why it's good. But if you don't believe me... here ya go..."  
  
She sloshed another large dose of vodka into his screwdriver.  
  
"Whoa-whoa," Chandler raised a hand defensively. "Don't _kill_ me."  
  
"Aw, c'mon... that itty-bitty drink? It's mostly orange juice anyway."  
  
"It _was_ mostly orange juice," Chandler said, taking another sip. "How much have _you_ had since we got here?"  
  
"Please... it's a party, not Sunday Brunch with Auntie, Chandler."  
  
"Oh, we drank _way_ more than this at Sunday Brunch With Auntie," Chandler smirked. "You forget -- Auntie? Related to _Dad_."  
  
"So you've built up a tolerance," Monica grinned, tipping the bottle into his glass again.  
  
"Cut it out," Chandler said, holding his hand over his glass and sliding it away from her.  
  
"I'm just trying to cheer you up, grumpypants," Monica laughed, tipping the bottle and drinking from the mouth.   
  
"_Grumpypants_?" Chandler put his hand over hers, lowering the bottle from her lips. "Mon? Look... I know you're competitive... but this is the kind of competitive where you _die_, okay? Slow down."  
  
"Finish your drink, and I will."  
  
"Jesus, Mon." Chandler tipped his glass back, draining it. "You happy? Gimme the bottle."  
  
"Wait-wait-wait, you need a refill first..." she poured vodka into his glass. "What are you all pouty about, anyway?"  
  
"I'm not... pouty..."  
  
"You've been bummed out ever since the other party! C'mon, we're celebrating! I got a promotion... Ross is old... and look, buddy, as much time as _we've_ spent listening to Ross and Rachel bitch about each other...? Tonight should be a damn ticker tape parade!"  
  
"I'm screaming with joy on the inside," Chandler spat, raising his glass and tipping it back.  
  
"That's what I'm talking about!" Monica laughed, refilling his glass.  
  
"Where's the orange juice?"  
  
"This is _Kettle One_, Chandler. Mixing _Kettle One_ with _orange juice_ is _blasphemy_, it's like..." Monica swayed on her bar stool, hands searching the air for a metaphor, "Eating a baloney sandwich with Beluga caviar."  
  
"Which I would do, if I could stand caviar. C'mon, where's the orange juice?"  
  
"Don't be a weenie... you just said you couldn't taste it."  
  
"Monica, you're _toasted_. Look, okay, if there was a competition, for who could _not_ be sober? You won it! C'mon, let's get a cab."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," Monica said, snagging a tartlet off a passing tray. "C'mon, Chandler... just think about it! All those _years_, all that _drama_, cats and Italians and everything else, and they _finally_ made it. Doesn't that cheer you up even a little? And you know what's so great about it?"  
  
Chandler didn't answer, staring into his glass.  
  
"Chandler, c'mon, you know what's so great about it?"  
  
"What's so great about it?"  
  
"They're _friends_. I mean, they've known each other so _long_, y'know? Know each other so _well_. I just think it's... really, really great... when that happens for people... don't you?"  
  
"Unless your name is _Julie_," Chandler said pointedly.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Chandler, Julie was a... Julie was a _complication_. I mean, hello, your mom said it! Ross and Rachel are the kind of couple that sells books. Overcoming obstacles... all that history... and then one day, their eyes meet... and bam," Monica said dreamily. "They're meant to be, y'know? It's fate. And Paolo and Julie and everyone... are just more obstacles to be overcome on the path to _love_. Just like in the books."  
  
"Well, for Ross' sake, I hope the book wasn't 'Mistress Bitch'," Chandler snapped.  
  
Monica rolled her eyes. "God, what is _with_ you tonight?"  
  
"You think Julie knows she was 'just a complication'?"  
  
"Julie will find someone else," Monica sighed, waving her arm dismissively. "C'mon, Chandler... no one can own as many Broadway soundtracks as you do and not have a _little_ romantic streak..."  
  
"Oh, I have a romantic streak."  
  
"Well, then..."  
  
"It's thinking about Julie, crying herself to sleep on her couch." Chandler finished his drink, grimacing. "I mean... don't you think this is kinda _soon_, like instantaneous soon? The man broke up with Julie five minutes ago."  
  
"It doesn't matter when it's _true love_, Chandler," Monica said, letting her fingers play over his arm. "See, this whole thing... it's like, my number two scenario."  
  
"Number two scenario," Chandler repeated, pouring himself another glass.  
  
"Well, yeah! Number One, of course, dark handsome stranger from a foreign country, tearful goodbyes at the airport, et cetera. But falling for your friend... that's definitely number two..."  
  
Monica raised her glass. "So... here's to Ross and Rachel, on their first night together. We wish them joy and happiness... c'mon, Chandler, raise your glass!"  
  
"Gimme the bottle," Chandler growled.  
  
***  
  
"This is... this is nice, isn't it?" Ross said awkwardly, pressing the pause button. "Um, Rach, ya wanna... ya wanna sit down?"  
  
"I'm worried." Rachel paced behind the couch. "I'm worried about Monica and Chandler... they've been out a long time, don't you think?"  
  
"They're big kids. C'mon, let's finish the movie."  
  
"I'm gonna... I'm just gonna call Chandler's cellphone, okay? Just make sure they're all right."  
  
"Yeah, sure, okay..."  
  
Rachel lunged for the phone, dialing Chandler's number.  
  
_Be home already, be playing Hammer Darts with Joey, be somewhere that I can explain..._  
  
"Shanfler Beanfone," Monica answered.  
  
"Hey, Mon! How are you guys doing? Where's Chandler?"  
  
"Baffooom," Monica laughed. "Yooat home?"  
  
"No, I'm... watching a movie with Ross."  
  
"Imnot cominhome," Monica said. "Lessus say... operfation Nekkid Bing? On scheffulle."  
  
"Um... what?"  
  
"Ressaunt inna hotelll..." Monica trilled. "Harmonica's not comfin home zoonight!"  
  
"Mon... you're drunk... why don't Ross and I come get you?"  
  
"Hellno Green, getchasome hot Ross!"  
  
_Click._  
  
***  
  
"Was'at my phone?" Chandler asked, collapsing onto his barstool.  
  
"Talkinna Rashel," Monica grinned, helping him up. "She'be all _up_ some Ross."  
  
Chandler blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"Playina skin floooot," Monica brayed. "Ridin'a baloneypony." She slid off her barstool, grabbing her purse and Chandler's hand. "Sheza 'Geller Yeller'. C'mon, Chanfler."  
  
***  
  
"Ross... Monica is _plastered_, I mean, _hammered_...! You should have heard her! And she's at some strange _hotel_..."  
  
"The hotel her _restaurant_ is in...!"  
  
"I don't care! She could get hurt! She could get taken advantage of! You didn't _hear_ her, Ross!"  
  
"Jesus, Rach, calm down. She's _twenty-eight_."  
  
"She's your _little sister_! Look, _Amy_ is _twenty-nine_, and I still wouldn't leave her in that situation!"  
  
"You hate Amy," Ross said.  
  
"I don't... _hate_ her, hate her!"  
  
"Yeah ya do."  
  
Rachel let out a scream of frustration. "Ross, this is not about my twisted sibling relationships! This is about yours! Get your ass off that couch!"  
  
"Look!" Ross said. "Chandler will take care of her! He always has! Will you calm down! Don't you trust Chandler?"  
  
"I... trust Chandler," Rachel said defensively.  
  
"You don't sound like it," Ross sighed. "Sit _down_, Rachel."  
  
"I... Ross, I can't, I'm too worried. You don't have to go with me, but... I'm going."  
  
"Monica's going to be pissed at you."  
  
"Right now? I don't care."  
  
***  
  
"Moniffa... gerroff," Chandler moaned into the bedspread. "M'gonna puke. Leemy belalone."  
  
His head weighed seven million pounds, his temples pulsing dully, each throb punctuated by the memory of Monica's laugh.  
  
_Playing the skin flute...  
  
Riding the baloney pony...  
  
She's all up some Ross..._  
  
Was Monica right? Was he a... a _complication_... in the epic wuv story of Ross and Rachel? A character even his mother couldn't love?  
  
"Yernatgonna _puke_," Monica laughed, pulling his belt out of its loops and dropping it off the side of the bed. "C'mon."  
  
"Amtoo gon'puke." Chandler reached off the edge of the bed, fumbling with his fingers for the bedside trashcan. "I nee'is."  
  
He groped for the plastic can, his mind soggily replaying A Thousand Embarrassing Moments In Chandler History. Stupid jokes, botched pick-up lines, the countless occasions where Rachel had stared at him like he was something nasty that welled up in her shower drain.  
  
She'd been drunk, and sad, and miserable over Julie... and he'd been _convenient_, a source of body heat that didn't require a cab to Paolo's house.  
  
And he'd been the perfect choice, hadn't he? Chandler the pathetic, Chandler the loser, Chandler the relationship moron, Chandler the charity case who'd never turn down a drunken proposition from a pretty girl...  
  
_He'd told her he loved her_. Jesus.  
  
Doubt washed over him, seeping through his brain, repainting his memories to match. A grimace on Rachel's face he'd been too lust-drunk to notice, a look of pity in her eyes when she said she loved him, longing gazes at Ross he'd never noticed before.  
  
He'd begged her not to forget him, begged her to tell him she loved him.  
  
_Pathetic._  
  
Monica cut off his thoughts, crushing his mouth with hers, her fingers digging into his shoulders.  
  
"Owowowow," he muttered, then yelped as she twisted his nipple. "Owww!!"  
  
"Y'like that?" she cooed.  
  
"No! Whaddyoofink ow means...?"  
  
And Monica was on him again, lips and teeth grinding painfully against his, Chandler's head shaking back and forth. "Serisslygonpuke... stoppit..."  
  
Monica reached down, her hand kneading him through his pants. "C'mon..."  
  
"Monnifa... Imoodrun... gerroff..."  
  
Monica tore at his pants, ripping them back, reaching through his boxers. "Dunworry... m'goodatthis... y'need a'lil help."  
  
And she grabbed him, misjudging, her hands digging into sensitive flesh, Chandler whimpering in pain.  
  
"N'gon worf," Chandler pleaded, trying to bat her hand away with an uncooperative arm.  
  
"Illwork!" Monica cried in frustration. "Thuddup!"  
  
Chandler moaned, nausea rising, his limbs heavy, his neurons drifting, connecting slowly, each time they did, a new flash of pain.  
  
_Rachel and Ross_...  
  
_Rachel and Ross_...  
  
Chandler thought about Rachel, his Rachel, being with Rachel... the way her eyes got that mischevious glint, the way her hair felt sliding across his stomach, her laugh, the little sounds she made when she dreamt...  
  
_The way she would look kissing Ross..._  
  
Chandler coughed, his stomach spasming, and he rolled out from underneath Monica, lurching for the trash can.  
  
***  
  
"Chandler Bing. B-I-N-G," Rachel pleaded.  
  
"I'm sorry, we don't have anyone registered under that name."  
  
"Monica Geller. G-E-L-L-E-R."  
  
The desk clerk tapped keys. "That name, either."  
  
"Oh, c'mon... she _works_ here! She works in the restaurant! Didn't you recognize her?"  
  
"I'm sorry, miss."  
  
"Didn't you see two drunk people go up to a room?"  
  
"We value our guests' privacy, miss."  
  
"Do you _value_ your _testicles_?" Rachel cried. "My boyfriend is up there, drunk off his ass, nailing my best friend!"  
  
"I'm very sorry, miss."  
  
"Couldn't you just look up who were the last people to rent a room?"  
  
"We value our guests' privacy, miss."  
  
"You suck!" Rachel cried, slamming her fist down on the counter. "You just... you just _suck_!"  
  
"I'm sorry, miss. Hotel policy."  
  
"Well, I hope you don't have a _policy_ about _disturbing_ the _peace_," Rachel spat, running over to the elevator.  
  
***  
  
Chandler retched one last time, his weakened muscles collapsing beneath him, rolling onto the carpet, ribs aching.   
  
"Chanfler... y'kay?" Monica said weakly, her head popping over the end of the bed.  
  
"I nee'water," Chandler groaned, rolling up onto his knees. "You too."  
  
He lurched into the bathroom, knocking the sanitary covers off the glasses, filling them unsteadily. He raised his own and chugged it, gasping, tiny pricks of light piercing the fog.  
  
_Jesus... had he been making out with Monica?_  
  
He poured the second glass of water over his head, slicking his hair back with a hand, shaking his head at his own reflection.  
  
"Chandler?" a faint voice cried.  
  
"What is it, Mon?"  
  
"That wa'n me," Monica groaned in the other room.  
  
"Chandler! Monica! Chandler!"  
  
_Rachel._  
  
Chandler slammed the glasses down, falling against the bathroom doorway, lurching past Monica's sprawled out form.  
  
"Chanfler? Wheroogoin?"  
  
***  
  
Rachel ran down the hallway, tears stinging her cheeks, calling Chandler's name into a double line of looming, anonymous doors. She tripped, ankle wrenching, and she doubled over, ripping off her heels.  
  
She knew she was insane, and she couldn't make herself stop, a stitch throbbing in her side, her thighs quaking, her voice growing hoarse, throwing herself into the elevator again and again, each new floor beginning with fresh hope and ending with deeper desolation.  
  
Into the elevator again, her sweaty forehead pressing against the cool metal, gasping for breath... and back out, stocking feet sinking into carpet, hallway stretching in front of her, the doors -- those damn inpenetrable, secret-keeping doors -- seeming to taunt her.  
  
"Chandler," she cried, voice breaking. "Monica? Chandler?"  
  
No answer. Of course.  
  
Rachel leaned against the wall, pressing her hand to the stitch at her ribs...  
  
And a door opened.  
  
"Chandler," she whispered.  
  
He walked towards her, his hair drenched, his shirt off...  
  
His... his pants unzipped.  
  
Rage welled up inside her, and she ran at him, beating her fists against his chest. "Bastard... fucking bastard... asshole... shithead..."  
  
"Rachel... Rach..."  
  
"Tell me you didn't do anything," Rachel begged, her tears hot on her cheeks. "Tell me."  
  
"I..." he trailed off. "I can't tell you that."  
  
She swung the hand holding the heels around, whipping them at his chest, her eyes full of tears. "Bastard."  
  
She took off running towards the elevator, and he stumbled after her, the hallway spinning. "Rachel... I didn't do... _the_ thing...!"  
  
She turned, her face set, his heart breaking.  
  
"Don't lie to me, Chandler."  
  
She dropped her shoes, shoved her feet into them.  
  
"And for god's sake... zip up your pants." 


	7. Just A Little Bit Destroyed

Rachel's heels echoed in the parking garage, the staccatto, angry tapping bouncing back at her from every angle.  
  
How dare he. _How dare he_.  
  
He was the one -- the one! -- who'd been _so_ concerned about hurting Ross. And yet, when Rachel got stuck in a bad situation, what did he do? Nothing! How easy would it have been to make some distraction, hell, even just come out and invite them to the stupid-ass party... anything! But no, he'd rather sulk, and get mad, and go _grudge-fuck_ her best friend... who he knew, he _knew_, had feelings for him!  
  
It wasn't enough to play around with _Rachel's_ heart... he had to mess with _Monica's_, too?  
  
All the times she'd spent listening to him whine about how he couldn't get, or keep, a girlfriend... well, no fucking _wonder_.  
  
She heard the slapping of bare feet, running up behind her. She didn't turn around.   
  
"Go away."  
  
"Rachel..."  
  
"I _said_ go away!"  
  
"We need to talk..."  
  
"No." She inhaled deeply. "No, we _don't_. This was stupid, Chandler. All of it. Stupid. We're completely wrong for each other, and we both know it. And this... this is the _end_ of a stupid, horny, _mistake_ I wish like hell I'd never made."  
  
She heard him suck in breath. She'd hurt him.   
  
Good.  
  
"Is _that_ why you came here?" he whispered. "To... to tell me _that_?"  
  
She seized the pride-sparing, offered lie. "Yes. Yes, it was, actually."  
  
"Well, that's it, then," Chandler spat. "Let the 'magical fairytale' begin! Exit geeky 'complication', stage left... just a _little bit_ destroyed, but oh, who cares about _him_?"  
  
She heard him turn, heard his footsteps recede... then stop.  
  
"You know... it's almost _funny_," Chandler muttered.  
  
"What is?" Rachel asked, teeth gritted.  
  
"Everyone says I judge women too soon, right? Says I ought to get to know them first. But you know what? I judged _you_ just fine."  
  
"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"  
  
"You ran into that coffeeshop, more in love with a fucking _gravy boat_ than your fiance, just _so_ certain that Monica would be _dying_ to let you move in with her, and I thought... _spoiled little princess_. And I kept being friends with you, thinking there must be something underneath... y'know, I'm so god-damned stupid, I convinced myself there _was_... and there _isn't_."  
  
Rachel whirled. "Oh yeah? Well, _I'm_ so stupid, I forgot for a whole week who you _were_! For a moment there, I actually convinced myself that you _weren't_ a bratty, wiseass preteen in a sweatervest!"  
  
Chandler nearly snarled. "Well, that's not your problem _now_, is it?"  
  
"I guess it's not," she snapped.   
  
Chandler stepped back, bowing, his arms held out. "Well... I hope you and Ross are very happy together."  
  
"I'm sure we will be." She clutched her purse, lips tight. "I have to go now."  
  
She turned, heading for the exit, making space between them as quickly as she could.  
  
"I take that back!" Chandler bellowed after her. "I hope _Ross_ is happy! And I hope _you_ rot in _hell_!"  
  
***  
  
Rachel kicked the door of Apartment 20 open, struggling with her armloads of shopping bags. The apartment swung into view, Monica hopping up from the couch.  
  
"Rachel... Rach... where have you been?" Monica cried.  
  
Rachel dumped her sacks in a pile by the counter. "What does it look like?"   
  
"How... how did you afford all this, Rachel?" Monica asked, peering at the heap. "There must be twenty bags there!"  
  
"Turns out I still had a credit card of Daddy's," Rachel smirked. "Just like me, huh? I'm such a _spoiled little princess_."  
  
She threw her coat onto the couch, stalking towards her room.  
  
"You had a card of your dad's all this time and didn't use it?" Monica marveled. "Wow... I'm impressed, Rach."  
  
Rachel froze. "Do not, do _not_ be nice to me right now, Mon. I-I couldn't take it."  
  
"Are... are you okay?"  
  
"No, I'm not, and I swear to God, if you keep being sweet to me, I'm gonna sob all over you." Rachel took a steadying breath. "So just... just ignore me, okay? Yell at me for throwing my coat on the couch, or something."  
  
Monica dropped into the couch, deflated. "Throw your _trash_ on the couch. I don't care right now."  
  
"Did..." Rachel bit her lip. "Did something happen with Chandler?"  
  
"Yeah!" Monica cried out, pulling a pillow over her face. "I made the biggest ass of myself, ever!"  
  
"He doesn't deserve you, honey," Rachel said flatly.  
  
"Oh Rach, you weren't there," Monica moaned. "It was awful."  
  
"What did he do to you?"  
  
"He didn't do _anything_ to me! That's kinda the point! God, Rach, I was so drunk, and you and Ross had just hooked up, and I thought, if it could happen for you guys, it could happen for me...!"  
  
Monica balled up the pillow miserably. "So I tried to get him drunk, and he didn't _wanna_ get drunk, and he kept trying to make _me_ quit drinking, and I _wouldn't_... and he was all upset about Julie, y'know, thinking about Julie? I mean, how sweet is that? And I... I was trying to press the friends-who-hook-up issue, y'know? And I got really _vulgar_ about it, I mean, like, _humiliatingly_ vulgar."  
  
Rachel sat down in the chair, and Monica continued. "I think I... god, I _hope_ I'm remembering this wrong... but I think I... I think I actually referred to you and Ross as 'riding the baloney pony'."  
  
"You. Um." Rachel swallowed. "You told him Ross and I were having sex?"  
  
"God, I _wish_ I'd told him you were 'having sex'! No, I told him you were 'playing the skin flute', and then I... god, I actually think I made some lewd reference to our family newsletter."  
  
"He thought... he thought I was having sex with Ross."  
  
"Wait-wait-wait! It gets _worse_! So now _he_ starts drinking, I mean, goes nuts... he's actually drinking straight out of the bottle..."  
  
Rachel's guts cramped, twisted, spun.  
  
"So I'm thinking, here we go, tonight's the night, right? And I _drag_ him over to the concierge, and I register us under some stupid damn name... I can barely talk at this point... and drag him upstairs..."  
  
"Go on," Rachel breathed.  
  
"And _all_ he wants to do is puke. That's all he wants to do. Puke and be left alone. But no, nooooo, I can't take a damned _hint_, I start kissing him, he's pushing me off, and I... I misunderstand, I think he's _embarrassed_, because, well, Mr. Winky doesn't want to come out and play."  
  
Monica sighed heavily. "So I grab him, well, you know where... and he _pukes_ on me."  
  
"Oh my god," Rachel said in horror. "_That's_ why his pants were unzipped?"  
  
"Yeah! God, Rach... I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed. And then _you_ show up..."  
  
"You knew I was there?"  
  
"I heard you calling for us. Chandler told me you'd come to make sure we were okay. Y'know, when he came back up, to give me the aspirin you guys had gone to get?"  
  
Monica reached out, touched Rachel's hand. "Thanks for doing that, by the way."  
  
"You're -- you're welcome," Rachel stammered.  
  
Monica leaned back against the couch, groaning. "God, Rachel... you should have heard me, I made _such_ an ass of myself. Going on and on and _on_ about you and Ross and how great that was... just hoping he'd take the hint, y'know? I went off on this drunken soliloquy about how you and Ross were like the love story in one of his mother's books and Julie was a _complication_..."  
  
Suddenly, Rachel remembered what Chandler had said, the night before.  
  
_Exit geeky 'complication', stage left..._  
  
"Have you... um... talked to Chandler today?" Rachel asked carefully.  
  
"No," Monica moaned. "That's the _worst_ part."  
  
"What... what is the worst part?"  
  
"He's avoiding me."  
  
"Well, I mean, he's just next door..."  
  
"No-no, no. He went to _Vegas_ to see his _dad_. He acted like he'd had it planned for weeks, but _please_... I know when someone's too embarrassed to look at me. He's _hiding_ from me."  
  
"How... how long is he going to be gone?"  
  
"He didn't say. God, Rach, you have to help me -- how do I fix this? I _have_ to fix this."  
  
"I-I don't know, Monica," Rachel said miserably. "I... I don't know how to fix this." 


	8. Cry Me A River

"Now... you say you love me..."  
  
Chandler sipped his martini by the light of the single candle burning on his table, watching his father scoot himself across a grand piano, sequins a riot of white sparkles in the spotlight.  
  
"You cry the whole night through..."  
  
He couldn't believe he was actually here, back here, in the dark little room with its flickering tables, the darkened faces, the site of so many onstage humiliations and offstage awkward confrontations. Of all the places he'd ever thought he'd want to escape... _here_ wasn't one he'd ever thought would make the list.  
  
"Well you can cry me a river... cry me a river..."  
  
He'd never expected to want to come here, been shocked by the words even as they left his mouth... certainly never expected this place to be so... weirdly, surreally... _comforting_. His dad's throaty alto, the way his blonde wig gleamed in footlights, his slow sashays through the crowd, Mr. Garibaldi's plaintive piano...  
  
"I cried a river, over you..."  
  
It was freakish, sure, but... it was familiar, too... part of him. And maybe, somehow, it was an explanation. Plus... it definitely, definitely wasn't New York. Chandler let his eyelids droop, the wistful rhythms of the song weaving through his spine, slowing his heartbeat to match.  
  
"Remember, I remember all that you said..."  
  
Charles caught his eye, smiling slightly, and Chandler found himself wondering how much he'd had to do with this song choice; Charles usually stuck to the up-tempo stuff. Charles knew something was wrong, but Chandler hadn't felt like sharing. Not yet.  
  
"Told me you were through with me..."  
  
But it sounded like his dad had guessed, pretty accurately.  
  
"And now, you say you love me..."  
  
Chandler lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting his breath keep time with the bass notes... dysfunctional meditation. The martinis were probably helping with the relaxation, maybe a little too much, but under the circumstances? He felt pretty justified.  
  
"Well, just to prove you do..."  
  
Inhale. Exhale. Thin strings of blue curled up around him, and Chandler blew a perfectly round smoke ring.  
  
"Go on and cry me a river... cry me a river..."  
  
He tapped ash languidly, enjoying the heaviness, the slight numbness, the slowness with which he moved, the nothing inside his head. Martinis good.  
  
"I... cried a river... over you..."  
  
The crowd burst into applause, and Chandler joined them, his cigarette clenched between his lips. Charles slithered off the piano, stepping delicately onto the bench and then the stage, never missing a step in his six-inch heels.  
  
"Thank you," Charles said huskily. "Thank you so much."  
  
A swish of skirt, and Charles was in the audience, moving in between visitors, touching, joking.  
  
"Some of you may not know this," Charles smiled, "But my son is in the audience."  
  
Scattered applause. Chandler's spine tightened... then contracted completely as the spotlight shone on him.  
  
"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Charles tossed his head. "A girl so young, with a son?"  
  
The audience laughed, and Charles grinned the joy of a joke perfectly timed, perfectly told.  
  
_God_, Chandler thought uneasily. _We really are a lot alike..._  
  
"And what almost none of you know is... my son used to perform here sometimes."  
  
_Oh no, dad, no..._  
  
"Oh, not like _that_," Charles laughed, lowering his voice like he was telling a particularly nasty secret. "He's _straight_."  
  
More laughter.  
  
"You try to raise your kids right..." Charles sighed long-sufferingly, and another wave of chuckles burst out. "And I'm wondering... if he would grace us with a song. C'mon, kids, clap for him if you want him to."  
  
Frantic clapping. Chandler shook his head, panicked.  
  
"He's _shy_," Charles purred. "He has a _lovely_ voice, though. And I _know_ he hasn't forgotten the words to his old number..."  
  
The clapping grew even louder. Chandler was frozen in place.  
  
"C'mon, son. They're not gonna stop until you get up there..."  
  
Charles was right. Chandler was trapped.  
  
Chandler's knees regained sensation, and he stood awkwardly, crushing out his cigarette. Now the applause was deafening. Charles handed him the microphone. "It'll be fun," he whispered.  
  
"Define 'fun'," Chandler hissed back. "You ever heard of 'Oedipus'?"  
  
"You're _way_ too old for Nora," Charles laughed, pushing him towards the stage, and Chandler stumbled forward on uncooperative legs. "His name is 'Chandler'," Charles informed the audience.  
  
"Chand-ler! Chand-ler!" the crowd chanted, led by Charles.  
  
The stairs to the stage loomed large, the spotlight impossibly bright, the glare off the gleaming piano blinding.  
  
"Um. Hi," he whispered into the microphone, his breath feeding back, his eyes flaring open.  
  
Mr. Garibaldi began to play, nodding to him.  
  
No, he hadn't forgotten the words.  
  
"If someone stood up in a crowd," Chandler said awkwardly, "And raised his voice up way out loud..."  
  
Speaking to the rhythm came a little easier, the words flowing back, the audience hanging on him. "And waved his arm and shook his leg... you'd notice him."  
  
Smiles from the audience, looks of warm approval. Chandler smiled a little, hesitantly at first, getting just a bit of ham on. "If someone in the movie show yelled, 'Fire in the second row! This whole place is a powder keg!'"  
  
They sprang back from his shout, his hand gestures -- they were with him.  
  
"You'd notice him," Chandler sang. Mr. Garibaldi threw him his hat, and Chandler caught it, pressing it to his chest melodramatically.  
  
The notes came easier, his voice warming up, his nervousness receding, replaced by the secret, stunning joy he'd always felt at being onstage, the audience in the palm of his hand.  
  
_God... we really are a lot alike..._  
  
"Cellophane, Mister Cellophane, shoulda been my name, Mister Cellophane," Chandler sang, doing a little vaudeville-walk across the stage, letting his body curve and bend, shaking the hat in his hand.  
  
They adored him now that he was into it, everyone in the theatre believing his original shyness had been part of the act, their eyes glued to him, the warmth of their regard spreading through Chandler, encouraging him to new heights.  
  
"Suppose you was a little cat, residin' in a person's flat... who fed you fish and scratched your ears?" Chandler said with real anger, letting the whole Rachel mess flow _through_ him, making it a tool, using it. "You'd notice him!"  
  
"A human being's made of more than air... with all that bulk, you're bound to see him there... unless that human bein' next to you..."  
  
Chandler dropped his voice, pushing all his self-pity out into the notes, "Is unimpressive, undistinguished... you... know... who..."  
  
Mr. Garibaldi began to trill the piano, and Chandler discovered that he remembered not only the words, but the dance. He did a little soft-shoe, throwing his arms out for the crowd.  
  
"'Cause you can look right through me... walk right by me... and never know I'm there..."  
  
He gathered all his breath, lungs expanding to depths they hadn't in a decade, belting out the last chorus. A moment's hesitation -- could he still hit these notes? -- and then he did, his own voice shocking him.  
  
And finally, the kicker line.  
  
"I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time," Chandler said bashfully, hanging his head, passing the hat back to Mr. Garibaldi.  
  
The crowd was on their feet, clapping wildly, cheering and whistling. Chandler jogged down the stairs and handed the mike back to his father.  
  
"You see why I don't let him do that too often," Charles grinned into the microphone. "The little brat steals my show."  
  
Chandler plopped back into his chair, adrenaline still thudding in his ears, the afterglow not yet faded.  
  
A woman at the next table leaned back. "You were awesome."  
  
He blushed. "Thanks."  
  
"Are you going to be on tomorrow night? I'd come back to see that again."  
  
"No, no... believe it or not, Dad actually did spring that on me."  
  
"No way."  
  
"Yes way -- I'm just in town for a visit."  
  
"Me too," the woman smiled. "So, do you sing professionally, or...?"  
  
"Oh god no."  
  
"An actor?"  
  
"Nope... my roommate is. I'm a data analyst."  
  
"Well, just judging from that -- you're wasted as a data analyst."  
  
"I tell myself that every day."  
  
"And your name was Chandler? Chandler, um, Handbasket...?"  
  
"Chandler Bing," he laughed, holding out his hand.  
  
"I'm Kathy. Kathy Collins." They shook on it. "I actually am an actress."  
  
"Well, I'm not gonna ask 'Have I seen you in anything', cause that's my roommate's least favorite question _ever_."  
  
"Oh, you haven't seen me in anything," Kathy grinned. "I'm not from anywhere around here -- I live in New York."  
  
"Actually...? Me too."  
  
"You still probably haven't seen me in anything. My biggest part so far has been playing Anna in this god-awful musical about Freud."  
  
Chandler's eyes bulged. "You were in _Freud!_?"  
  
"You _saw_ it?"  
  
"My roommate's Joey Tribbiani!"  
  
"Oh, my god! Small world! Joey's awesome, I love him. Well... wow, then you're _the_ Chandler. I think he's mentioned you before."  
  
"All bad, I'm sure."  
  
"All good, of course." Kathy lifted her purse, looked at the seat next to him. "You mind?"  
  
"Not at all."  
  
***  
  
"Hey, everybody!" Joey cried, hanging up his coat on the peg and heading for the orange couch. "Guess what? Chandler called!"  
  
"How's he liking Vegas?" Ross asked, breaking off a piece of muffin.  
  
"Sounded like he's havin' a great time." Joey dropped into the green chair. "You're not gonna believe this, but he actually got on stage during his dad's show and sang a song."  
  
"No way," Phoebe laughed.  
  
"Yeah, he did. And hey, you guys remember _Freud!_?"  
  
"I think it's pretty safe to say it's seared into our memory," Ross chuckled.  
  
"Yeah, well, okay, remember Kathy? That like, super-crazy-hot chick who played Anna? The one, I think I told you this, Ross... the one who was like Chandler with boobies? I was gonna set him up with her, but he was with that Aurora chick."  
  
"I remember, I think," Ross said, not noticing the downward slide that had begun on Rachel and Monica's faces.  
  
"Well, she's in Vegas too! She went to the show the night Chandler sang!"  
  
"She lives in Vegas, though... right?" Phoebe said carefully.  
  
"Nah, she lives here in New York. She's just on vacation." Joey grinned. "Think my little Chandler mighta made the luuuuv connection."  
  
"How nice for him," Monica snapped.  
  
"Well yeah -- how long has it been for him, huh?" Joey grinned.   
  
"Joey, did he -- did he give you a number to call him?" Rachel asked. "I... need to ask him something about computers."  
  
"Called from a pay phone," Joey shrugged. "He and Kathy were going to go see Siegfried and Roy. I'm gonna get a muffin -- anybody want one?"  
  
He bounded off, and Ross turned to Rachel. "Hey, Rach... there's this little film festival playing tonight. You wanna go? I mean, it's no _Siegfried and Roy_, but it might be cool."  
  
Rachel's eyes flickered to Joey, and she sighed. "Yeah, sure, Ross. Why not."  
  
***  
  
"No she did _not_," Kathy gasped, pausing in her tracks on the sidewalk.  
  
"No, she did. Totally kissed him. So you see, Dad is actually the normal one, in some respects." Chandler took her arm, leading her forward down the Strip.  
  
"Wow. It must have been so great, growing up like you did."  
  
"Did you not _hear_ that story?"  
  
"No, it's just... my parents were so _boring_. I'm kinda envious."  
  
"Okay, obviously I need to tell you more stories."  
  
Kathy hugged his arm. "I like your stories."  
  
"You, uh... you wanna get a cup of coffee or something? Believe me, if you like screwed-up family anecdotes, I can talk all night."  
  
"Coffee sounds great," Kathy grinned.  
  
***  
  
Rachel surreptitiously checked her watch by the faint glow of the screen.  
  
Oh, dear god. They'd only been in here an hour? There was _another_ hour of this?  
  
She could feel her life ticking away.  
  
Russian voices rose and fell, a couple arguing in black and white. Near as Rachel could tell, the dude had stolen the girl's jelly donut, and now they were somehow involving the cat.  
  
Or something like that. Ross had failed to warn her that the films would be subtitled, so she hadn't worn her glasses; the plot, if there indeed was one, was contained in that fuzzy, white, gave-her-a-headache-to-squint-at-it line along the bottom of the screen. Ross had been fairly patient the first three times she'd asked him to explain what the hell was going on, but the last two had earned her glares and steely sssh!es.  
  
She'd thought a movie would distract her; instead, she'd somehow ended up with _lots_ of time to think, in the dark, with a soundtrack of depressing Russian music and the sounds of people fighting.  
  
_Perfection._  
  
Rachel racked her brain for the thousandth time, trying to remember that damned production of _Freud!_, trying to remember the girl who'd played Anna. Unfortunately, all the was coming up with were tall, lanky, and wearing a wig... not helpful.  
  
_So let's recap, shall we?_ Rachel's brain supplied. _You let Ross kiss you in front of Chandler. Then, instead of telling Chandler the truth, you (a) accused him, (b) insulted him, (c) lied to him, (d) dumped him evilly. Now, he thinks you hate him, he thinks you're practically engaged to Ross, and he's off in the Sin Capital of the World with a girl who is, quote, 'Chandler with boobies'.  
  
Oh, and did I mention that you wounded him with shoes?  
  
Brilliant, Rach. Seriously. Have you thought about writing relationship books?_  
  
***  
  
"This is me," Kathy said, pulling the keycard out of her purse. "Would you, uh... like to come in for some minibar?"  
  
"Minibar?" Chandler grinned. "I don't want to end the evening by devastating you financially."  
  
"Well, okay, screw the minibar," Kathy said, meeting Chandler square in the eyes. "Would you like to come in?"  
  
"I... uh, well, I..."  
  
_What the hell are you doing? This gorgeous, funny girl is asking you to come in! It's not like you have a girlfriend, you know..._  
  
"Chandler?" Kathy asked, watching his face curiously.  
  
"Sure... in. I like in. In is good."  
  
Kathy leaned up, pressing her lips to his.   
  
***  
  
"So what did you think of the movie?" Ross asked. "I thought the cinematographer's use of shadow was particularly effective."  
  
"Yeah!" Rachel hid a yawn behind her hand. "That was really effective."  
  
Amusement played over Ross' lips. "You weren't paying attention for a single second, were you."  
  
"I couldn't read the subtitles, Ross," Rachel replied, trying to keep her irritation out of her voice.  
  
"Well, that kills the movie as a potential dinner topic. Where you wanna eat?"  
  
"Oh, I dunno, I guess I..." Rachel trailed off; Ross was staring off into the distance. "Ross?"  
  
"Julie," he whispered, pointing surreptitiously.  
  
Rachel whirled. Julie was standing over by the stairwell, chatting to two friends... and as Rachel watched, Julie saw Ross, flinching visibly, her eyes wide.  
  
_That was a little weird..._  
  
A brief disagreement with her two friends... them laying restraining hands on her, Julie shaking her head violently... and Julie was approaching them.  
  
"Hey guys," she said, her voice quivering only slightly. "What's up?"  
  
"I didn't think you'd be here," Ross said quietly.  
  
"Are you kidding? I've been waiting for this movie to come here for months. Don't you think the cinematographer's use of shadow was particularly effective?"  
  
"Definitely," Rachel said awkwardly.  
  
"So, are you guys... together?"  
  
Rachel and Ross' eyes met. "We, uh, came to see this movie together," Ross stammered.  
  
And now Rachel _was_ freaked. This wasn't like Ross _at all_. She'd figured he'd be all over her at this point, practically wearing a "I AM FINE WITHOUT YOU!! JUST FINE!!" neon sign on his head. It was The Way Of The Ross. _Why didn't he want Julie to know they were on a date?_  
  
"Really?" Julie asked pointedly. "Rach, you didn't strike me as a likely fan."  
  
The words were bitchy... _should_ have been bitchy, even... but all Rachel could see on Julie's face was deep, deep concern... concern for _her_.  
  
"Well, I like to expand my horizons," Rachel smiled. _What the hell was going on?_  
  
"Right. Well... I should be getting back to my friends." Julie patted Rachel's arm, turning on her heel, returning to her friends... who wrapped protective arms around her, shooting strange looks over their shoulders at Ross and Rachel.  
  
"Well, that was awkward," Ross fake-laughed.  
  
"Yeah, that was... that was definitely... _awkward_..."  
  
***  
  
Kathy and Chandler rolled across the bed, tangled up, kissing frantically. Kathy pulled back, gasping, working the buttons on Chandler's shirt, spreading it back with her palms.  
  
Kathy inhaled sharply. "What the hell _happened_ to you?"  
  
"It's a nubbin!" Chandler cried... then realized that wasn't what Kathy was looking at. "Oh, that. It's just a scratch."  
  
"Hell of a scratch," Kathy marveled, running her fingers along the angry red length of it. "How did you get this? It looks brand new."  
  
"It is new," Chandler sighed. "Let's just say I had a disagreement with a lady friend... and she had heels in her hand at the time."  
  
"How, um... how recent is this lady friend?"  
  
Chandler flopped back onto the bed. "Spleen-through-the-wringer recent. I'm sort of on 'vacation' avoiding her... and my best friend, who she dumped me for."  
  
"Ouch. Should we be doing this?"  
  
"Well, I was definitely enjoying it..."  
  
"Yeah, I was too, but... what happened?"  
  
***  
  
"And I will have the Grilled Prawns." Ross handed the menu back to the waiter.  
  
_I hate the way he says 'Grilled Prawns'_, Rachel thought fiercely, then stopped herself.  
  
What was going on? Ross was her _friend_, her very good friend. He hadn't tied her up and dragged her out here... and he hadn't really been the one to mess up things... that'd been _her_.  
  
She supposed it was just disappointed anger... that feeling she'd had whenever her dad had gotten back from a business trip, and Amy and Jill had gotten to him first. Even if the souvenir she'd ended up with was perfectly nice... she'd always had a bizarre urge to drop-kick it. She didn't want _that_ one!  
  
_God, Chandler's right... I am a brat._  
  
But when Ross said things in that over-accented way, it was... pompous, and kinda obnoxious. Chandler could have said the exact same thing, in the exact same way, and it would have made her giggle. It would have been _meant_ to make her giggle.  
  
Chandler would have slid lower in his seat at that movie, leaning in, whispering hilarious fake lines for the actors into her ear, making her laugh even as her knees went a little weak. Or they could have just bailed on the movie altogether, hurrying back to his apartment, all over each other in the cab, him pressing her up against the kitchen counter, melting into kisses...  
  
"Rach?"  
  
"Sorry, Ross. Mind wandering a little bit."  
  
"That's okay," Ross said benevolently. "I was just asking how you were liking your new job."  
  
"Oh, it's... it's good."  
  
"I gotta tell you, Rach," Ross smiled. "I'm glad to see you get out of that coffeeshop. You keep on doing what you're doing at Bloomingdale's, you could wind up with a real career."  
  
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Define 'real career'?"  
  
"Oh, you know," Ross laughed. "Something with a future, benefits, a stable salary. I'd love to see you get out of the service industry altogether."  
  
"_Monica_ and _Phoebe_ are in the service industry..."  
  
"And look at what it's done for them! Phoebe scrapes by, and Monica's under constant stress. And don't get me started on Joey."  
  
"And Chandler's job...?"  
  
"Well, I know it wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but look at what it's given him! He has a 401K, benefits, a great salary, stability. He's right on track."  
  
"Right on track for... what, exactly?"  
  
"Adulthood, y'know? Having children, getting married. I mean, okay... what if Pheebs got pregnant right now? How would she ever support a child?"  
  
"I think Phoebe would be a great mom."  
  
"And I'm sure she would. Emotionally. I'm talking about practical stuff here."  
  
"Chandler's job bores the crap out of him, Ross. It's like eight hours of misery a day."  
  
"Well, y'know, I'm sorry for him, but in a way, he's lucky. I mean, in college... the man would _not_ pick a major! He could have been good at so many things, had his pick of several career paths... and he got that joke English degree. What the hell do you do with an English degree, besides teach English? If he hadn't taken that temp job, I don't know what would have happened for him."  
  
Rachel's nostrils flared.  
  
"Your salads," the waiter said, setting bowls in front of them.  
  
Rachel plunged her fork in, spearing a wedge of carrot violently, and taking great pleasure at ripping it apart with her teeth.  
  
***  
  
"No-no-no, wait," Kathy shook her head. "She's so in love with Ross that she leaves their first night together, comes to the hotel in the middle of the right, and runs from floor to floor screaming your name... to tell you she's with him? Chandler, that doesn't make _any_ sense."  
  
"Yeah, well, lately she _hasn't_ made any sense." Chandler pulled his pack out. "You mind?"  
  
"Nah, there should be an ashtray in the desk drawer." Kathy popped the top of the Coke she'd run down the hall for a few minutes before, watching Chandler light his cigarette. "You sure that's the whole story?"  
  
"Look, I asked her why she came, and that's what she told me."  
  
"_After_ she'd wounded you, so pissed off that you'd slept with Monica?"  
  
"I didn't sleep with Monica."  
  
"I know that, she doesn't. I gotta tell you, Chandler -- this whole thing is playing out _way_ differently in my head."  
  
"Mon's her best friend. She's protective, y'know? She probably thought I'd used her. Hence the wounding."  
  
"I don't _know_, Chandler. You know, you... you don't strike me as the world's most confident guy, now that I'm really talking to you... you don't think that might have, uh, clouded your vision a bit?"  
  
***  
  
"Dr. Geller?"  
  
"Dr. Stevens! Dr. Caldwell!" Ross pushed his chair back, extending his hand. "Good to see you!"  
  
"And who's your lovely lady friend?" Dr. Caldwell asked.  
  
"Ah, this is Rachel. Rachel Green, this is Michael Stevens and Stephanie Caldwell."  
  
"Hi," Rachel waved.  
  
"Would you like to sit with us?" Ross asked. "We're still working on salads, you can catch up."  
  
The hostess moved plates and napkins over, and Rachel plucked her purse off the chair to make room.  
  
"Ross, we've been reading your paper on the connection between geographic isolation and rapid mutagenesis," Dr. Caldwell said. "It's fascinating."  
  
"Right up there with your 'Punctuated Equilibrium in the Devonian Era'," Dr. Stevens agreed.  
  
"Oh, but that's a classic," Dr. Caldwell laughed.  
  
"Oh, well, it's... it's hardly a _classic_," Ross said demurely. "Do you, uh... really call it a classic?"  
  
Rachel could feel her brains melting into goo and running out her ears. She nodded and smiled, the fake plastic grin beginning to make her cheeks ache as the dino-talk continued.  
  
Her pasta arrived, and she ate it as slowly as possible, making sure her mouth stayed full just in case she was invited to participate, mentally replaying last Friday's "Guiding Light".  
  
"Rachel?"  
  
The Spauldings really were assholes... well, except for Philip, sometimes...  
  
"Rachel?"  
  
She looked up, caught. "Yes?"  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
She reapplied her fake smile. "Oh, I think it's fascinating."  
  
Ross raised an eyebrow. "Your pasta... is _fascinating_?"  
  
"Well sure, yeah! Monica's been training me to uh, pick out the ingredients in food." She turned her dazzling fakeness on the two other PhD's. "My roommate's a chef."  
  
"Oh, wow!" Dr. Caldwell said. "So... what's in the sauce?"  
  
"Um..." Rachel ran a mental eye over Monica's spice rack. "Some, uh. Cumin."  
  
"In _alfredo_ sauce?"  
  
Oops. Rachel toyed with her fork. "Must be some secret recipe."  
  
"Wow, cumin," Dr. Caldwell mused. "I'd never thought of using that..."  
  
Dr. Caldwell raised her fork, tasting gingerly. "You know... now that you mention it... I can almost taste it, I think."  
  
"Well there you go," Rachel smiled.  
  
_Oh, dear god. Get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here..._  
  
***  
  
"I'm just saying... you should at least try to repair the friendship."  
  
"I don't know, Kathy..."  
  
"Come on, Chandler. Look, I know you're hurting... but y'know? Even if she is a bitch, even if she is with Ross... she's still the girlfriend of one of your best friends, the roommate of another. You don't want to... how did you phrase it earlier? 'Kip' yourself."  
  
"Yeah, I guess..."  
  
***  
  
They walked down the street, Ross waiting until the two doctors were out of earshot.  
  
"To quote the Great Chandler Bing... could you have _been_ paying less attention?" Ross snapped.  
  
_Oh, don't you_ dare_ quote the Great Chandler Bing..._  
  
"Ross, I don't have a paleontology degree, okay? I had nothing to contribute to that discussion!"  
  
"You could have at least _pretended_ to pay attention."  
  
"I wasn't snoring! Count your blessings!"  
  
"My job bores you _that_ much."  
  
"I'm sure your job is lovely, Ross. I just... well, how bored would you have been if I'd been talking about, oh, I don't know, a-line skirts with my co-workers?"  
  
"You at least could have _learned_ something," Ross protested. "Look, it's okay, I'll loan you some books..."  
  
"I don't want to be loaned any books, Ross. Can't you just accept that we have different interests?"  
  
Ross' face softened. "Of course. Of course, Rach."  
  
"Thank you," she replied.  
  
"And next time I'll remind you to bring your glasses, okay?"  
  
"Well... maybe next time we could go see a movie that's actually in English."  
  
Ross took a step back, then plastered on his game face. "Sure, sure... that too." He fell into step beside her. "So, uh... you wanna come back to my apartment? Watch a movie in English?"  
  
"I think I'm kinda movied out for tonight, Ross. Rain check?"  
  
He tried unsuccessfully to keep the disappointment off his face. "Sure. Rain check. No problem."  
  
"So... I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"See you tomorrow."  
  
Ross leaned in for a kiss, and Rachel turned her head so it landed on her cheek.  
  
"Right," Ross said flatly, hailing a cab.  
  
***  
  
"Joey? Hey, Joe?"  
  
Rachel pushed the door further open, craning her head around the crack. With Chandler gone, Joey was doing a lot more naked cooking, and suddenly, it wasn't so safe to barge right in.  
  
"Joey?"  
  
She opened the door a little wider, greeted by the sounds of soft snores. Joey was passed out on the couch.  
  
Well no, no, not quite... Joey was passed out on the couch, _clutching a stuffed penguin in a ski vest_. Rachel slapped her hand over her mouth to keep the giggles in.  
  
Joey shivered a little in his sleep, and Rachel crossed behind the couch, reaching for the blanket, pulling it down to cover him. She tucked him in gently, moving his arm to cover it...  
  
There was something written on his arm.  
  
And the last four letters she could see were "DLER".  
  
Carefully, carefully, Rachel slid Joey's sleeve up his arm, watching his closed eyelids. They never moved.  
  
SUNDAY PICK UP CHANDLER  
GATE 22 10:45  
  
Rachel's eyes flicked to the little alarm clock Joey had perched on the sofa arm. 10:00.  
  
And the "alarm set" light was on.  
  
Rachel finished tucking Joey in, and he let out a little sigh of contentment, squeezing his penguin tighter. Rachel crossed to the alarm, flicking the "alarm set" button to "off".  
  
Rachel erased the Magnadoodle, leaving Joey a note so he wouldn't feel guilty when he woke up, and slipped out the door.  
  
***  
  
"Just this," Rachel said, digging out her wallet and pushing the copy of Cosmopolitan across the counter.  
  
Her eye lit on something in a cold case, and she smiled. "Oh... could I get that Yoo-Hoo, too?"  
  
She paid for her purchases, rolling the magazine and stuffing it under her arm.  
  
This would work. It'd be good. He'd be surprised, sure, but she could fix this. She strode to Gate 22, taking a seat, opening the magazine to "21 Ways To Drive Him Crazy In Bed".  
  
Maybe she'd learn a little something to use on him later.  
  
The first-class passengers began to stream out, embracing their loved ones, heading for baggage claim. Rachel closed her magazine, gripped the glass bottle, touched at her hair nervously.  
  
And then she saw him, his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Her heart leapt.  
  
And Chandler turned, speaking to a woman behind him... a woman who came up and straightened his collar, dropping her own bag at his feet.  
  
Oh dear god. Not again.  
  
_Not again._  
  
What was she gonna do this time? Get drunk and fall in love with Joey?  
  
Well, she knew what she _wasn't_ gonna do this time.  
  
Rachel ducked around a column, attaching herself to the end of a long line of vacationing seniors in Hawaiian shirts, keeping the crowd between her and Chandler, letting them lead her out.  
  
She passed a trash can, and pitched the bottle into it.  
  
Outside the concourse, she hailed a cab, sliding into it and slinging her magazine across the vinyl seat, giving the driver directions.  
  
"And hey, look -- if I'm ever in your cab again, and I ever ask you to take me to LaGuardia?"  
  
"Uh-huh?" the cab driver asked, eyebrows soaring.  
  
Rachel crossed her arms. "Kick me out the door on my ass." 


	9. You Are My Sunshine

Rachel stirred another Sweet-n-Low into her styrofoam cup of coffee, letting out a little yawn. She looked at the clock -- just fifteen more minutes. She could last fifteen more minutes, right?  
  
She'd lain awake all night, her mind buzzing... and, of course, the sleepiness hadn't hit until just about the time she had to get up for work. She was going home and going _straight_ to bed...  
  
"Hey, Rach?"  
  
She looked up blearily. "Yeah?"  
  
"Sorry to do this to you, but... this lady just came in and asked for you specifically."  
  
"Seriously?" Rachel groaned.  
  
"Yeah, but if it makes you feel any better... she asked for you _specifically_... in front of _Mr. Waltham_."  
  
Rachel brightened, extending her cup. "You want this?"  
  
Her co-worker accepted the coffee, and Rachel hauled herself back to the dressing rooms.  
  
"Julie?" she whispered.  
  
Julie turned around from the mirror. "Hey, Rachel."  
  
"What... what...?"  
  
"I have an interview," Julie shrugged. "Needed some new stuff. And nobody shops for me like you do."  
  
"Oh! Oh, okay. Well, this interview, are you going for super-professional, or slightly casual, o-or..."  
  
"You know what? That's crap. I mean, I do have an interview, and you are a great shopper, but... I came to talk to you."  
  
"Oh." Rachel sagged against the doorway.  
  
"Look, I... I don't think you should date Ross. And I'm not saying this as a jealous ex or anything, I'm... well, you were always really nice to me. And I... I don't think you should date Ross."  
  
"Well... I mean, honestly, Julie... I don't think I should date Ross either. But I have my own reasons for that, I'm... well. Why don't you want me dating Ross?"  
  
"Um. What are your reasons for not wanting to date Ross?"  
  
"Wh... why do you want to know?"  
  
"Because... because if they're the same reasons I don't want you to date Ross, then I can talk to you about why I don't want you to date Ross, and god... that would be a huge load off."  
  
"Well, um. I mean, Ross is great, he's a great friend, but... he kinda... well. Bores me."  
  
"Ross?" Julie asked incredulously. "Bores you? Ross _Geller_?"  
  
"Well... well, yeah."  
  
"B-but... he's so funny, and so smart! God, he used to crack me up all the time! He's got that, that amazingly, intelligent dry wit!"  
  
"Aren't you trying to convince me _not_ to date him?"  
  
Julie blushed. "Yeah, yeah I am. It's just... you shocked me, with that one. I can't imagine being bored by Ross."  
  
"Well... I think maybe he's making the jokes, and I'm not getting them. Or, y'know... I think this is maybe more likely... he's not making the jokes, 'cause he thinks I won't get them. He, uh... well." Rachel bit her lip. "He considers you an intellectual equal, y'know? Me, me he definitely does not. Which is, well, I can't blame him. I don't like dinosaurs, or Ukranian films, or punctuated equilibrium in the Devonian era..."  
  
"God, that was an _amazing_ paper," Julie sighed.  
  
"See! You see? You love that paper... I don't even understand the title! God, Julie... why, why, why aren't you still with Ross? Why?"  
  
"Because he's obsessed with you, Rachel! And I don't mean obsessed like most people say obsessed, I mean he's... serial-killer, body-parts-in-the-freezer, obsessed!"  
  
Rachel burst out laughing. "No, he's _not_!"  
  
"Yes, he is! Believe me!"  
  
"Julie, he's _not_. I mean, he had a slightly creepy thing for me in high school, but he's not obsessed with me now! He wanted to date me for a while, and I guess he still sorta does, but Julie... the minute we saw you in that movie theater, he forgot I existed!"  
  
"Rachel, you don't... you don't understand. He has this... this creepy _shrine_ to you."  
  
"Shrine? Oh... the shrine in his closet?"  
  
Julie blinked. "You _know_ about that?"  
  
"I've never seen it, but Monica told me about it."  
  
"Rachel, I really think you need to _see_ this, I mean..."  
  
Her co-worker's voice cut through Julie's distress. "Rachel? You have a phone call, line four."  
  
"Oh, okay. Julie, hold that thought." Rachel picked up the phone. "Hello? Oh hey, Mon... no, I'm not off yet, but it's okay..." Rachel gaped into the phone. "He did what? Oh my god, you're kidding?!"  
  
Julie looked on in confusion as Rachel began to hop up and down.  
  
"Monica, that's fantastic, that's amazing, give him... give him a hug for me! Sure, you can put me on hold..."  
  
Rachel put her hand over the handset. "Joey got a part on 'Days of Our Lives'! Can you believe it?"  
  
"That's great," Julie said. "But Rach, um, I don't think you understand how creepy this shrine is, okay? If you'd seen it... you wouldn't be this casual about it..."  
  
"It was a million years ago, though... oh my god, I'm so happy for Joey! Oh my god, what if I get to visit him on the set? On the _set_!"  
  
"Rachel," Julie said forcefully. "Listen. To. Me. Concentrate for just a sec, okay?"  
  
"Okay..." Rachel continued to dance in place.  
  
"Stop dancing."  
  
"Okaaaay," Rachel sighed, standing still.  
  
"This was not some teenager's group of girlie pictures, okay? This was sick and morbid. There was even this huge collage of you, with a penis stuck on you! A penis, Rachel! Ross has... Ross has issues!"  
  
"A penis," Rachel repeated.  
  
"Yes. Cut out from a magazine."  
  
The hold music cut off, and Rachel put the phone back to her ear. "Monica -- why didn't you tell me that Ross' little shrine to me had creepy penis pictures in it?"  
  
Rachel paused, her eyes narrowing. "What _tiny-weenie_? I did not have a... oh my god!!"  
  
Julie watched as Rachel paced, furious. "They said I... Tootsie Roll? No, that does _not_ make me feel better, Monica! When did this... who the hell is Will? A what? A _what_? How could you not tell me this??"  
  
Rachel let out a little scream. "No, no, that's fine, answer the door! And I hope you've always wanted to be an only child, 'cause guess what? Your brother is a dead man!"  
  
Julie jumped as Rachel slammed the phone down. "Um... Rachel...?"  
  
"Well, there's good news and bad news," Rachel spat. "The good news is... Ross isn't a demented killer. The bad news is, I'm about to be one!"  
  
"Um... what?"  
  
"All those pictures? They had a club! The 'I Hate Rachel Green' club! And apparently, there was some Will asshole, who hated me, and he's the one who made all the penis pictures! They started a rumor about me that I was a... a hermaphrodite! Oh, and they thought it was just sooooo _funny_! This explains, like, half the weird crap that happened to me in high school!"  
  
"Ross... Ross didn't make those pictures?"  
  
"No, no, it was that Will freak! That was their little... clubhouse, or something. Ross was all in love with me or whatever, and I wouldn't talk to him, so he joined this stupid _club_ and let them meet in his _bedroom_... I am gonna kill him! _Kill him_!"  
  
"Ross isn't crazy?"  
  
"Yes, Ross is crazy! Ross is totally crazy! Who joins a _club_ to _hate_ someone?"  
  
"I was, uh... actually, I was in this, um, "We Hate Stephanie Simmons" club in high school," Julie blushed. "She was the cheerleading captain, and this _total_ bitch, and..."  
  
"Oooooh, you are so _not_ the person I need to be talking to right now!!"  
  
"Rachel, I know, I know this pisses you off, but I'm... well... I'm pretty happy."  
  
"Happy? How can you be..." Rachel trailed off. "Ohhhhhh."  
  
Julie hugged herself. "Yeah."  
  
"Do you, uh... you want to get back together with Ross?"  
  
"I do, I do, I definitely... ohhh." Julie paused. "Are you, are you okay with that?"  
  
"I'm fine with it! I think a man should _enjoy_ his last hours on earth!"  
  
Julie beamed. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna go, I'm gonna go find him, I..."  
  
"Yeah, well, if you could accidentally kick him in the nads, I'd really appreciate it."  
  
***  
  
"We're here..." Ross said, setting Ben's carseat down next to the door.  
  
Monica came running, lifting Ben out of Ross' arms. "Who da Wenny-Benny boy? You the Wenny-Wenny-Benny-Benny boy, yes..."  
  
"Is Rachel here yet?" Ross asked, divesting himself of baby gear.  
  
"Nope, not yet. I was just on the phone with her, I think she got held up at work. And um, Ross? About Rachel..."  
  
"Look... I don't want to talk about Rachel right now."  
  
Monica stopped bouncing Ben. "Ross... what's wrong?"  
  
"Oh... _everything_." Ross dropped into a chair. "I ran into Julie on Saturday, on this just, beyond horrible date with Rachel... and she just, she just looked... wow. And then I tried to call Rachel on Sunday, and she wasn't answering the phone, and I... how did I screw both these things up at once? Somebody put me out of my misery!"  
  
If Chandler flicked magazine pages with a little more force than usual, no one but Joey noticed.  
  
"You know what _you_ need," Monica said. "Pie!"  
  
"Pie," Ross repeated dubiously.  
  
"Yep, it's Kiwi Lime, you'll like it. I made it for Joey, 'cause he's got some news!"  
  
"What news, Joe?" Ross asked, getting a knife out of the drawer. "Key Lime, huh?"  
  
"I got a job on 'Days of Our Lives'!" Joey screeched.  
  
"Seriously, Joe? That's fantastic! Well, you definitely get the first piece of pie!"  
  
"Damn right I do," Joey grinned, getting plates down. "I'm gonna be Dr. Drake Ramoray, neurosurgeon!"  
  
"You're... you're gonna be a _neurosurgeon_," Ross choked, setting a piece of pie on Joey's plate.  
  
"I'm gonna read lines like I was one!" Joey replied happily, popping a forkful into his mouth. "Ohh, Mon. This is goo-oo-oood."  
  
"I'll get in on some of that action," Chandler said, rising from the couch and taking a plate.   
  
"Here's a fork," Monica said, laying her hand at the small of Chandler's back. He stiffened.  
  
Ross took a bite. "Wow, this _is_ good. So Joey, when do you start?"  
  
"Next Monday. One of the chicks is in a wreck. I save her brain... and steal her heart."  
  
"Nice," Monica laughed. "He's a Benny-Wenny! Wittle Benny-Wenny!"  
  
Ross coughed suddenly, touching his throat.  
  
"Ross, you okay?" Joey asked.  
  
"I don't know," Ross stuttered. "What's -- what's in this pie?"  
  
"Uh, I dunno... butter, eggs, flour, lime, kiwi..."  
  
Ross's eyes flew wide. "Kiwi? You said it was a key lime pie!"  
  
"No, I didn't, I said _kiwi lime_. That's what makes it special!"  
  
"And that's what's gonna kill me! I'm _allergic_ to kiwi!"  
  
"No, you're not," Monica insisted. "You're allergic to lobster, and peanuts, and..." she trailed off. "Oh my god."  
  
"God! When I thaid 'put me out of my mithery' -- I was _joking_!"  
  
"Ross, I'm sorry! I forgot!"  
  
"Ith dethinithly gething worth," Ross choked.  
  
"Is your tongue swelling up?"  
  
"Either tha or my thongue ith gething smaller!"  
  
"All right, get your coat," Monica sighed. "We'll go to the hospital, get you a shot."  
  
"A thot?" Ross' eyes flew wide. "Y'know, athually, athually ith gething bether. Leth not go. Anyone for Thrabble?"  
  
"Jacket. Now," Monica insisted.  
  
"I canth leath Ben!"  
  
"We'll watch him," Joey insisted.  
  
"I donth thinth tho!"  
  
"C'mon, I have seven Catholic sisters, I've taken care of hundreds of kids," Joey soothed. "Go on, go on."  
  
Monica shoved Ben into Joey's arms, pushing Ross out the door.  
  
"Um." Chandler looked fearfully at the small person in Joey's arms. "Whadda we do now?"  
  
"See if we can get him to sleep," Joey said, rocking Ben back and forth. "That's the easiest. Here, you hold him, I'll kill the lights and warm up a bottle."  
  
"I don't wanna --" Chandler reacted as Joey shoved Ben into his arms. "Oh, I'm holding him, I'm holding him..."  
  
"Get his head, okay? And sit down with him."  
  
Chandler sat down gingerly in the big white chair, and Joey doused all the lights, closing the curtain over the big window. "Sing somethin'. Baby stuff."  
  
"Uhhh..." Chandler racked his brain. "You are my sunshine... my only sunshine..."  
  
"That's good, little bit quieter though," Joey whispered, heading for the stove, bottle in hand.  
  
"You make me happy... when skies are grey..." Chandler sang softly. "You never know, dear... how much I love you..."  
  
Ben reached out, patting Chandler's face, grabbing onto his finger.  
  
"Ohhh, that's kinda cool," Chandler whispered.  
  
"Keep singin'," Joey hissed.  
  
"Umm... hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep-y, little baby..."  
  
Ben's eyes fluttered, his hold on Chandler's finger getting weaker. Joey looked over, smiled, and opened up the Pack n' Play.  
  
"He's out," Chandler whispered.  
  
"Okay, put him in here... I'll turn the stove off."  
  
Chandler laid Ben down, joining Joey on the couch. "So whadda we do now?" he said under his breath. "Just sit here in the dark?"  
  
"Yeah. It's safer than the alternative."  
  
"The alternative being...?"  
  
"Takin' him out. What, I never told you what happened to me the time I babysat Nicky?"  
  
***  
  
_Slam!_  
  
Phoebe looked up from Joey and Chandler's counter. "Hi, Rachel."  
  
"Okay... where are they?"  
  
"They ran out to get a keg for the 'Congratulations, Joey' party. What's up?"  
  
"I'm gonna _kill_ them, that's what's up!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I just talked to Monica! I cannot _believe_ they left Ben on a bus!"  
  
"Oh, yeah." Phoebe went back to her cereal.  
  
"Oh yeah? That is not an 'oh, yeah' thing! How could they be so irresponsible?"  
  
"They're boys."  
  
"That's not good enough! Y'know, I hope you like Girl's Night Outs, because everything with a penis in our group of friends... dies, tonight!"  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Well, for starters, Ross, with his 'I Hate Rachel Green' club, and now Joey and Chandler... arrrrgh!"  
  
"Well, they should be back any minute, if you wanna go yell at them."  
  
"Oh, I do! Believe me, I do!"  
  
"Oh, hey... if you're gonna go scream at Chandler, would you give him something for me?"  
  
"What? Sure, why not..."  
  
Phoebe pulled a rubber stamp out of her purse. "It's this stamp he had me make for him today at Kinko's. I thought he might want it back... I mean, it's only been used once."  
  
"What does Chandler need with a..." Rachel grabbed it out of Phoebe's hand, her jaw dropping. "... stamp that says 'Property of Human Services'?"  
  
"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Phoebe asked. "How mad at Chandler... is _Monica_?"  
  
"Are you kidding? She's furious! You know how she feels about babies, and especially about Ben... she wants to kick his ass!"  
  
"Wow," Phoebe sighed. "That's too bad. I guess she must not have a crush on him anymore, huh?"  
  
"Of course she doesn't! She's so pissed off, I..." Rachel broke off suddenly. "Phoebe?"  
  
"Yuh-huh?" Phoebe said innocently, taking another bite of cereal.  
  
"Chandler... he... had had you _make_ this?"  
  
Phoebe grinned. 


	10. Press The Button

_Sorry about the continuing lack of smut, Jana...  
  
Strange thing... I didn't realize until I wrote this what a major series goof there is, even beyond Chandler not remembering 'Fat Monica'. In "The One With The Prom Video", Ross is already in college, and Monica and Rachel are in their senior year of high school. This means that it's actually after she meets Chandler for the first time... months and months after, since most Proms take place in May.  
  
So she meets Chandler in November, and decides to lose weight... but here she is on the Prom Video, six months later, not having shed a pound and still eating like there's no tomorrow... only to magically have lost 100 pounds six months later. Weird, no?_   
  


* * *

  
  
_Click._  
  
Rachel's eyes flew open in the semi-dark, her grip on her pillow tightening. "Mon?"  
  
"No."  
  
She flopped over, her stomach in knots. "Chandler...?"  
  
Silhouetted in the doorway, his face was unreadable. "Party's about to start... naptime's over."  
  
"Sorry, sorry I... just didn't get any sleep last night..."  
  
He paused, considering, then shut the door behind him. "Hey, Rachel, look. I just wanted to say... that was a _shitty_ thing you did to me yesterday. I didn't want to give you crap about it in front of everyone, but... don't do that to me again." He took a step closer. "Look... I don't... I don't want us to fight anymore. I want us to be... well... friends, if we can. But stuff like that -- isn't the way to start."  
  
Rachel rubbed her eyes. "Wha -- what did I do?"  
  
His voice softened a little. "Did you just forget?"  
  
"Forget... what?"  
  
"The airport. You turned off Joey's alarm? You were gonna pick me up at the airport? I waited there for an hour, Rach... and then I yelled at Joey before I saw the MagnaDoodle."  
  
Rachel shook her head, trying to wake herself up. "I thought that girl would take you home."  
  
"That... wait. You were _at_ the airport?"  
  
Oh crap, crap, crap. "Yeah," she said in a small voice.  
  
"You came all the way there to ditch me? What, did you -- did you just wanna see my face? Jesus, Rachel, what the hell did I ever do to you?"  
  
"Nothing! Nothing, Chandler, I want to --"  
  
"Get _dressed_, Rachel. It's Joey's big night. I don't want anything to ruin that."  
  
And with a slam, he was gone.  
  
***  
  
"All right," Chandler cried, raising his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast, to _Mister_ Joseph Francis Tribbiani...!"  
  
"Hear, hear!" Phoebe cried, clapping her hands.  
  
"A wonderful roommate. A fabulous friend. And now, a brilliant, heartbreaking neurosurgeon, reoccurring in at least four episodes!"  
  
They clinked glasses, and Rachel sipped her champagne, trying not to visibly grimace as Kathy popped an olive in Chandler's mouth.  
  
"Okay, everybody... I've got a surprise!" Monica pulled a black videocassette out from underneath the table. "Joey's not the only one on TV!"  
  
"Whatcha got, Mon?"  
  
"Mom and Dad came by with a bunch of my stuff today, and I watched a few seconds of this -- it's the Prom Video from my and Rachel's Senior Prom! Who wants to stick it in?"  
  
"Ooooh!" Phoebe squealed. "I do! I do! I never got to go to Prom, but I did steal this ice sculpture..."  
  
"Wait-wait," Ross interrupted. "I think tonight ought to just be about _Joey_, don't you guys? Just give me the tape, and I'll hold on to it..."  
  
"I wanna see!" Joey demanded. "Stick it in!"  
  
"Why don't we watch some of _Joey's_ stuff?" Ross countered. "We could have, we could have a whole, glorious _Joey Marathon_!"  
  
Joey reached over, plucking the videotape out of Monica's hands and jogging for the VCR.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, guys..." Ross tried one final time.  
  
Rachel followed the herd over to the couch, mentally calculating. Prom Video... had this been before, or after her...  
  
The screen lit up, a vision of herself in a hideous blue dress filling it.  
  
Oh, dear God. Before, definitely before.  
  
"What is up with your nose?" Joey cried.  
  
"They had to reduce it because of my..." Rachel fingered her nose self-consciously, "Deviated septum."  
  
"You know, I deviated my..." Chandler began, then froze mid-quip. "Whoa."  
  
Monica had appeared on screen, and Rachel sucked in breath; she'd forgotten just how large Monica had been.  
  
"Some girl ate Monica," Joey said in awe.  
  
"Shut up!" Monica cried. "The camera adds ten pounds!"  
  
"So how many cameras are actually on you?" Chandler teased.  
  
"Don't start, Bing," Monica growled. "You've only got nine toes left."  
  
They all reacted again as Ross appeared on screen, and Rachel stifled laughter behind her hand.  
  
"Lookin' good, Mr. Kot-ter!" Joey crowed.  
  
Where _was_ Ross, anyway? Rachel turned, eyes narrowing as she spotted Ross, pacing by the door, visibly uncomfortable. _What was wrong with him?_  
  
"Oh, look, there's Roy Gublick," Rachel pointed at the screen.  
  
"You know, Roy saw Star Wars 317 times," Monica said. "His name was in the paper."  
  
"Only 317? I saw it..." Chandler paused, coughing into his hand. "Yeah, that Roy guy's a nerd."  
  
"I just told Rachel that Roy touched my boob," Monica said conspiratorially.  
  
Rachel watched as her younger self sobbed into a Kleenex over Chip Matthews... and then her eyes widened as the screen flashed over to a scene she didn't remember, not at all...  
  
_I have a wonderful idea. You should take Rachel to the Prom.  
  
Doubtful.  
  
Jack, give me that. Talk to your son.  
  
Your mother's right. Take her, you can wear my tux.  
  
Dad... she won't want to go with me.  
  
Of course she would! You're a college man!_  
  
Ross was... Ross was going to take her to the Prom? That was so sweet...  
  
"Okay, you guys, you know, I think we've seen enough, let's turn it off," Ross crossed nervously to the VCR.  
  
Monica, Kathy, Phoebe and Joey waved him away. Chandler sat, motionless, staring at the screen, looking sucker-punched.  
  
"Okay, fine, well, I'm not gonna watch, alright," Ross headed for the door.  
  
_Ahh, are you handsome!  
  
Let's show 'em.  
  
Uh... just a sec dad. Okay, be cool, just be cool..._  
  
Rachel's eyes sought out Chandler's face, and just for a moment, his eyes stared into hers... miserable guilt pouring out of them.  
  
_Oh, god... it's over. This is it. The end. Even if he wasn't with Kathy, even if I hadn't screwed up, he loves Ross too much..._  
  
And god, poor Ross, standing there with the bouquet as they all ran through the foyer...  
  
He'd loved her so long. So long... loved her so much. And until this whole Chandler thing had spun her head around, she'd loved him too, hadn't she? Loved him enough to make an ass of herself at the airport, loved him enough to drink herself into Chandler's bed.  
  
She and Chandler weren't ever going to make it, were they? They'd kept it together what, three days? With everything in the world working against them?   
  
Maybe it was meant to not be.  
  
_Oh, dear. Jack, how do I turn this off?  
  
Press the button.  
  
Which one? Which button, Jack?  
  
The button, the button...!_  
  
"I... I can't believe you did that, Ross," Monica said in awe.  
  
"Yeah, well..."  
  
Rachel's eyes flashed to Chandler. He nodded, slowly, sadly. And she walked, heavy-hearted, over to Ross.  
  
"That was really sweet," Rachel whispered.  
  
"Well... I..."  
  
"No. That was really, really sweet." She raised her hand, brushed it through his hair, took a deep breath...  
  
And pressed her lips against his. 


	11. Xanadu

_It has come to my attention that some people didn't understand the end of Chapter Nine. I'll go back and clarify at some point, but in the interest of getting on with the story:  
  
Chandler and Joey did not actually leave Ben on a bus. Joey left his nephew Nicky on a bus a long time ago, and told Chandler about it while they were babysitting. This gave Chandler the idea of faking the story as a way to get Monica off of him. Chandler had Phoebe make the "Property of Human Services" stamp at Kinko's, and they stamped Ben's diaper as 'proof' the story was true. Rachel was angry at Chandler and Joey until Phoebe showed her the stamp and Rachel figured out what had happened.  
  
Ross is taking a bit of a beating in this story -- but keep in mind, this isn't an objective look at Ross -- this is Ross viewed through Rachel's frustration. As Rachel says in an earlier chapter, there's nothing wrong with Ross -- but she wants to be with Chandler, and is therefore finding fault with Ross where none may exist.  
  
Am moving some canon episodes around for my own nefarious purposes. What, I have to be consistent in a show-land where Ross can give a big speech about Chandler's beloved childhood dog Molly... right after "The One Where Chandler Doesn't Like Dogs"?_  
  


* * *

  
  
"Why'd Kathy haul us out of there so fast?" Monica asked, staring across the bar to where Kathy and Chandler were involved in a low, hurried conversation. "We didn't even tap the keg!"  
  
Phoebe and Joey shared a look. "Ah, well, y'know, wanted to give Ross and Rachel some privacy..." Joey said.  
  
"But she doesn't _know_ them. And I swear, you guys, I caught her giving Rachel this... this _death_ look. Like, I'm surprised Rachel didn't _melt_."  
  
Phoebe threw a peanut into her mouth. "Maybe she's not comfortable with public displays of affection."   
  
"Or maybe she's secretly in love with Ross," Joey added.  
  
"Or maybe she's a _freak_," Monica laughed. "What a weird day. Did I tell you guys that _Julie_ showed up looking for Ross?"  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah, while Rachel was napping." Monica took another swig. "Anyway, I told her Ross was out of town for a while."  
  
"You did what?" Phoebe gasped.  
  
"Aw, c'mon. That's the _last_ thing Ross and Rachel need is the ex-girlfriend sniffing around! Haven't things between them been complicated enough?"  
  
Another shared look. "Did she uh, leave a phone number or anything?" Joey asked.  
  
"Joey, there are a million women in this city. You don't need to be hitting on Ross' exes."  
  
"Right, right." Joey picked at his beer label. "My bad."  
  
"What was her last name again?" Phoebe asked innocently. "It's right on the tip of my tongue..."  
  
"Y'know, I don't remember..."  
  
"Hey, guys," Kathy said, pulling Chandler towards their table. "We're gonna take off. Congratulations again, Joey."  
  
"Thanks, Kathy." Joey eyed Chandler. "You gonna be okay, man?"  
  
"Yeah, I haven't had too many," Chandler replied, unspoken conversation flying between them.  
  
Joey touched Chandler's arm. "Okay. You guys have a good night."  
  
"Hey-hey, c'mere," Phoebe said, pulling Chandler into a hug. "See you tomorrow, right?"  
  
"Right." Chandler ruffled Monica's hair, plastering a grin on. "See you guys later."  
  
***  
  
They slid into the cab, and Kathy let her full worry bloom on her face. "Are you okay? Really?"  
  
"I dunno. I guess. I dunno." Chandler leaned his head against the glass, looking out at the night. "I guess I'm stupid to be upset. I mean, it wasn't working, at all... and god, when I watched that video, I felt so bad... you have no idea..."  
  
"No-no, I have an idea." Kathy touched his hand. "Look, Chandler... I didn't grow up in New York. I grew up in this much smaller town, and I always kinda _wanted_ to come here, give acting a shot, but I... I had the _best_ group of friends, and I didn't want to leave them. I mean, just awesome, inseparable, like you and your friends, we'd all known each other since high school."  
  
Chandler turned, facing her. "What happened?"  
  
"This happened. Well, something like this, anyway. My friend Kate, she'd had a crush on our friend Sam, god, forever. But he didn't feel that way about her, you know? And I liked him too, I mean, not as long, I hadn't _known_ him as long, but Kate... it was like she had dibs. And Sam... wanted me."  
  
Chandler nodded, playing with a loose string on the vinyl.  
  
"We fought it a while. And then one night, I came over to his house, to return a CD, and... we didn't fight it. God, Kate was... Kate exploded. Said I'd violated 'The Code', said you didn't fish in your friends' fish tank, said... said a million things. And I loved Kate, I mean, she was my best friend..."  
  
Kathy sighed. "And maybe Sam and I could have been happy, we were a great match, but... the whole group imploded, and everyone blamed me. Eventually, I think even Sam blamed me. I was living a block from people I'd known for decades, and I was... so lonely. I figured if I were going to be lonely, I might as well be lonely up here."  
  
They rode in silence for a moment.  
  
"I love her," Chandler sighed. "It sucks and I'm stupid but it's true."  
  
Kathy took his hand. "I know you do, sweetie."  
  
***  
  
Ross and Rachel sank down onto the couch, kisses growing more urgent.  
  
_This is fine. See? It's fine. He's a good kisser, maybe not Chandler-good, but, I mean, who is? And things weren't working out with Chandler anyway, I mean, Ross is mature, Ross is responsible, Ross is Real Boyfriend Material. And Chandler, well... I mean, if you want to have a little fling, with some amazing, mind-blowing sex, well, that's fine, but Chandler's not... he doesn't have the same... well, he's just different, that's all. And with Kathy._  
  
The thing was... Ross kinda smelled like him.  
  
"That's not your usual cologne, is it?" Rachel asked, pulling her lips away.  
  
"Nah, Ben spit up on me a little. I used Chandler and Joey's shower and stuff. Actually, this shirt is Chandler's."  
  
Ross pressed his lips to hers again, discussion over.  
  
That explained it, explained why she couldn't keep Chandler out of her mind, explained the way Chandler and Ross kept weaving together in and out of her consciousness...  
  
She opened her eyes and stifled a giggle. Ross just looked so... _weird_, somehow, his eyes closed, this look of... _intense concentration_ on his face, like he was puzzling out some tricky calculus problem...  
  
"What's funny?" he gasped, rolling up on an elbow.  
  
"Oh, nothing. It's just kinda weird, y'know. Finally being here with you."  
  
"Funny-weird?" Concern crossed Ross' face.  
  
"No-no, no, not funny-weird, I just got tickled..." And then she burst into giggles again as he touched her breast.  
  
"What is it now?"  
  
"It's just... strange, y'know? Ross' hand on my boob."  
  
"Your... your _boob_," Ross repeated dubiously.  
  
"_Breast_, sorry..."  
  
He kissed her again, shutting her up, stifling the laughter.  
  
And maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad to pretend, just a little, just to power through this initial little burst of weirdness. It'd get better, right? She wouldn't have to do this... it'd just be a crutch, a one-time thing, a little help.  
  
She let her mind wander, imagination flying, repainting, filling in the details. The glint in Chandler's eyes, the little dimples at the sides of his mouth, the set of his jaw, the moodiness of his brow...  
  
It was Chandler's hands on her now, Chandler's lips trailing down her neck, Chandler's heat searing her flesh, Chandler's elegant fingers unbuttoning her shirt.  
  
And now her body began to respond, writhing beneath him, hands rising to wrap around his neck...  
  
"We should go in the bedroom, c'mon."  
  
Her illusion exploded, Ross' face above her in the glare of the overheads, Rachel suddenly feeling as undressed as she was.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Monica will kill us if we get _stuff_ on her couch."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Right. _Stuff_."  
  
"You know, _bodily fluids_."  
  
"That's okay, Ross -- I actually _knew_."  
  
"Well, yeah, okay, well. We should still, y'know, go in your room."  
  
Rachel bit her lip. "Maybe... maybe it's a little early to be, um, getting to the bodily fluids. I mean, we've only been on one date..."  
  
"Right, right, of course, good point." Ross straightened his clothes, leaning over for another kiss. "I guess I should go, huh?"  
  
"M-maybe so," Rachel smiled, patting his arm.  
  
"You, uh, you wanna go on another date? Maybe, um, tomorrow night?"  
  
"That sounds nice."  
  
"Well, c'mon, you can, you can walk me to the door."  
  
Ross hoisted her up by her hand, and Rachel pulled her shirt closed around her, following him to the door.  
  
"So can I, can I get a rain check?" Ross asked, trailing his finger down her cheek.  
  
"Yeah, sure! That's, that's fine."  
  
He kissed her goodbye, and Rachel shut the door after him, sinking down against it for a moment before striding towards her room.  
  
Wonderful. Now she was horny, alone, and so in love with _stupid_ Chandler Bing that she couldn't even make out with a perfectly lovely man without making an idiot of herself.  
  
No, no, no-no. Not in love. Not in love, just in lust, _passing_ lust, lust she could totally get over.  
  
She reached over to her bedside table, picked up the rubber stamp that laid there, twirled it in her fingers.  
  
If he'd given up on her... why did he bother getting rid of Monica? Why make up the whole 'Baby on the Bus' story?  
  
She set the stamp back down and dropped her clothes on the floor, crawling into her bed with a sigh. Her bed was nice, sure: cool cotton sheets, perfectly fluffy pillows... but it just wasn't _Chandler's_ bed, that rumply sea of textures, the dark blue flannel sheets, the butter-soft pile of plaid pillows, the silky warmth of his comforter, all tangled around her, the heat of his naked skin pressed against her back, his leg curled under hers, his breath against her neck, the warm weight of him as he slept, one arm possessively wrapped around her, a haze of body-heat shimmering around them.  
  
She wouldn't wake up and see him watching her, propped up on a hand, a little smile on his face, his hair sleep-rumpled and stuck up and adorable, wouldn't eat cereal wrapped in his holey old bathrobe, watching him stumble through the kitchen in his boxers, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Wouldn't roll across the floor with him, lungs bursting in laughter, covering him in kisses...  
  
Rachel pulled her pillow over her head, groaning.  
  
***  
  
"Okay, don't peek, don't peek," Joey said, leading Chandler down the hallway by his hand.  
  
"If I open my eyes and you're naked, I'm puttin' the lock back on my door," Chandler warned.  
  
"All right..." Joey grinned. "Peek."  
  
Chandler opened his eyes, jaw dropping. "Sweet mother of all that is good and pure!"  
  
The red and brown chairs had been replaced by two black-leather Barcoloungers; their old TV by a huge new one.  
  
"Huh?" Joey cried proudly. "Days of Our Lives picked up my option!"  
  
"Congratulations, man!" Chandler grabbed him in a hug.  
  
"And this is just the beginning, dude. I'm gonna get you paid back, it's gonna be awesome. Hey, check this out." Joey picked up the remote, pressed a button. "Picture-In-Picture! Two channels at once!"  
  
"This is great, Joey, but you didn't... you didn't have to do this..."  
  
"I wanted to, man. And look what I hauled over..."   
  
"The keg from your party," Chandler smiled ruefully. Joey, feng shui master that he was, had placed it directly between the Barcoloungers.  
  
"Not even tapped. Pheebs and Kathy are on their way over with Chinese... this is gonna be awesome."  
  
"Where are they gonna sit?"  
  
"In our laps! That's the simple beauty of the Barcoloungerial setup."  
  
The door burst open, and Monica barrelled through it. "Have you guys seen Rachel?"  
  
"Thought she was with you," Joey shrugged. "Don't you guys have that catering thing tonight?"  
  
"Yes!" Monica shrieked. "And it's my first time catering, and she was supposed to waitress for me, and I... can't... find... her!"  
  
"Maybe she's with Ross," Chandler said, flicking through channels on the TV.  
  
"She's not with Ross. I called him. I'm gonna kill her!"  
  
"Mon, calm down," Joey soothed. "I'm sure she'll be here!"  
  
"We're supposed to leave in twenty minutes! And I can't, I can't screw this up, my Mom got me this job! It's for a friend of Dad's! If I screw up, I'm gonna hear about how I 'pulled a Monica', forever!"  
  
"What's 'pulling a Monica'?" Phoebe asked curiously, pushing the door open for herself and Kathy and setting sacks of Chinese food on the counter.  
  
"It's screwing something up completely! Just like I'm gonna do, right now, if Rachel doesn't get her ass over here!"  
  
"What's going on?" Kathy asked, pulling white cartons out of the sack.  
  
"Rachel was supposed to waitress for me tonight, and she's run off somewhere," Monica sighed. "Have you guys seen her?"  
  
"I saw her earlier, in the coffeeshop... her mom had come for a visit..." Phoebe said.  
  
"Great," Monica snapped. "She's off getting a manicure or something, perfect."  
  
"I can waitress for you if you need me to, Monica," Kathy offered. "I've done it for years."  
  
"Would you? Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah, it's not a problem... what are you catering for?"  
  
"It's my dad's best friend, Dr. Burke -- it's some kind of opthamologist party..."  
  
"Sounds fascinating." Kathy's mouth twitched.  
  
"Kathy, thank you, thank you so much... are you ready to go?"  
  
"Sure..." Kathy grabbed her purse from the counter, shooting an apologetic look at the rest. "Sorry to bail on the New TV party, you guys..."  
  
"That's okay, we..." Phoebe's eye was caught by the screen. "Ooooh, Xanadu!"  
  
"Or maybe you won't even notice I'm gone," Kathy laughed, following Monica out the door.  
  
***  
  
"Do you hear something?" Phoebe asked, teetering on Joey's lap to refill her plastic cup.  
  
"Beyond the _bitchin'_ stylings of the Electric Light Orchestra?" Chandler quipped.  
  
"Yeah... I think I hear something outside."  
  
Chandler yawned. "Want me to check?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Chandler peeled himself out of the Barcolounger, padding to the door in his sock feet, sticking his head outside.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
And now, he could hear what Phoebe heard... muffled sobs.  
  
"Um... hello? You okay?" Chandler stepped out into the hallway, looking around the corner. "Rachel?"  
  
She was curled up against the wall, sobbing into her wrists, a Saks Fifth Avenue sack propped up beside her.  
  
He leaned against the wall. "What, did they cancel the sale?"  
  
Rachel looked up, meeting his eyes with her own bloodshot ones. "My mom and dad are getting divorced."  
  
"Oh my god." Chandler mentally kicked himself. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Sure, sure, I'm fine..." She wrestled herself up, grabbing her bag. "I'm just headed inside, my uh... my feet got tired."  
  
"Rachel, wait." He touched her arm. "You want to talk about it?"  
  
"Not with you." She brushed past him, reaching for the doorknob.  
  
"Look, Rach, I know I yelled at you yesterday, but... talk to me. Please? I'm the only one you know who's been through this before."  
  
"You don't have to be nice to me."  
  
"Look, it's talk to you or watch Olivia Newton-John rollerskate. It's not nice, it's self-preservation. C'mon... I'll make you hot chocolate..."  
  
"What does hot chocolate have to do with _anything_?"  
  
"Well, it's... it's what the housekeeper made me. It, uh, gets that pumpkin-pie-vomit taste out of your mouth."  
  
Rachel raised her hand to her lips. "Does it get chicken-salad-plate-vomit taste out of your mouth?"  
  
"Probably. C'mon." He put his hand on her back, steering her inside Apartment 20.  
  
"Will you put extra marshmallows in it?" she asked in a small voice. 


	12. Extra Marshmallows

"Extra marshmallows, as requested," Chandler smiled gently, pushing the mug across the kitchen table and dropping into a chair.  
  
Rachel wrapped her hands around the warmth of the cup. "Thank you. Thanks, Chandler. I just... I don't know what to do..."  
  
"There's nothing you _can_ do, Rach..."  
  
"You don't understand. This... this is all my fault."  
  
"Everyone thinks that..."  
  
"No, this really, this really _is_ my fault! She's leaving him because she wants to be more like me!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Today, I was so stupid, I was showing her all around, I showed her the coffeeshop, and the apartment, and she met Phoebe, and she saw Ugly Naked Guy playing the cello, and she started talking about... talking about how _free_ I was, and how she'd never had that..."  
  
Rachel swallowed hard, poking at a floating marshmallow. "And I... I tried to talk her out of it, y'know? And she said... she said I didn't marry my Barry, but she married hers."  
  
"Ouch," Chandler whispered.  
  
"I didn't know anything was wrong! They never talked to each other! How could anything be wrong?"  
  
Chandler reached out, covering Rachel's hand with his. "Rach... it's still not your fault. She has to have been feeling this way for years..."  
  
"It's just... when I was little, everyone's parents were getting divorced, y'know? I guess I just thought... at this age... I wouldn't have to worry about it..."  
  
Chandler squeezed her hand.  
  
"But it happens, right? I mean, it happens, I just didn't think about it, like poor Dr. Burke..."  
  
Rachel broke off, a look of horrified realization crossing her face.  
  
"Oh my god... Monica must hate me," she whispered.  
  
"She doesn't hate you. She won't be mad once she finds out what happened, Rach..."  
  
"But her catering thing! I was supposed to help, and then I forgot all about it..."  
  
"It's okay, it's okay. Kathy waitressed for her, it's taken care of."  
  
Rachel blinked, pulling her hand back. "Kathy."  
  
"Yeah, she's done a lot of waitressing, I think it comes with the actress gig."  
  
"Well, that's great." Rachel pushed herself away from the table, pacing towards the television. "Wonderful, perfect, Kathy covers for shitty old forgetful Rachel, that's lovely."  
  
Chandler raised an eyebrow at Rachel's back. "Do you, uh... have a problem with Kathy?"  
  
"No-no, of course not! Why would I have a problem with Kathy? She's lovely, she's great, she's... you with boobies..."  
  
Chandler stood, taking a step towards her. "You don't sound like you mean any of that."  
  
"Chandler, I... I want to be alone now, okay? I appreciate the cocoa, and you letting me rant, but..."  
  
Another step. "I... I wish I knew what to do to make you feel better..."  
  
"There's nothing you can do, Chandler."  
  
"I mean, besides the cocoa, the only comforting divorce-thing I have is cigarettes..."  
  
Rachel whirled. "On you?"  
  
Chandler paused, blinked. "Yes..."  
  
"Whip 'em out."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Out on the balcony, Bing."  
  
***  
  
He lit it for her, and she was struck all over again at the marvel of his hands in motion. It was a filthy, nasty habit, and she wished he'd quit, but... _damn_ if he didn't look good doing it.  
  
He held the burning cigarette out, and she took it from his fingers, raising it to her lips, feeling the burn in the back of her throat, her lungs expanding.  
  
"This feels weird," Chandler muttered, lighting one for himself. "Mon would kill me."  
  
"Monica does not need to know," Rachel tapped ash on the concrete.  
  
"Why'd you want to do this?"  
  
"I dunno. Maybe part of me wants to hurt my parents. They'd flip if they saw me."  
  
"My parents didn't really care," Chandler said ruefully. "I wanted them to, but... they didn't. I guess part of me did it as kind of this 'Look what you've done to me!' thing, you know? But I guess you have to pay attention to your kid to notice any new habits he's picked up."  
  
"Is your relationship with them that bad?"  
  
He flicked his cigarette. "Not as bad as it used to be. They're good people, they just... shoulda been sterilized at birth."  
  
"Aww... but then we wouldn't have you."  
  
"Yeah, _I'm_ such a gift to the world," Chandler drawled.  
  
"Well... _I_ like you."  
  
Chandler stopped, smiled. "Rach... let's not fight anymore, okay? I know crap happened, but... let's put it behind us. I really... I don't want to lose you as a friend."  
  
"Is that what it was?" Rachel said sadly, "Crap?"  
  
"Certainly turned _into_ crap, didn't it?"  
  
"Yeah... yeah, I guess it did."  
  
"How are... how are you and Ross doing?"  
  
"Weird. Awkward. He's... he's not you."  
  
"That's a good thing, though, right?"  
  
"I guess... I guess it could be."  
  
"You know, if you ever... if you ever need anything, Rach, I'm here. The things I said to you... I meant them."  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. "I meant them, too."  
  
"You think you can sleep now?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah I... I'm kinda looking forward to not being conscious."  
  
"I wish..." Chandler whispered, then stopped himself.  
  
"What? What do you wish?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing. It's stupid. Ignore me."  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Chandler... tell me."  
  
"No, it's really, really stupid."  
  
"Tell me, or I'll tickle it out of you..."  
  
Chandler sighed. "I was just thinking... I wish things weren't so complicated. I wish I could just... take you across the hall with me, y'know? Hide in my room and shut the world out... where it couldn't get to you, hurt you. I see you sad, and it just... it just breaks something inside me, it's like... it's like I _have_ to make it better, have to kill whatever it is that's hurting you, and there's... nothing to kill, nothing to fight. And it seems like... maybe if I held you tight enough, I could keep whatever it was away."  
  
"That's not stupid."  
  
"It sounds stupid in my head."  
  
"Well, in mine... it sounds like the biggest temptation in the world."  
  
They stared at each other, unspoken words echoing all around them.  
  
"I'm, uh. I'm gonna go." Chandler ground the cherry out of his cigarette, sticking the butt in his pocket.  
  
"Yeah, I guess I should get some sleep."  
  
"Call me if you need me, okay?"  
  
Rachel nodded, watching him crawl through the window. She wouldn't, of course: she needed him all the time.  
  
***  
  
Joey looked up at the sound of the buzzer, his arms still cradled around Phoebe's waist. He'd expected her to move to the other Barcalounger when Chandler had left, but she'd stayed put.  
  
"Who's ringing?"  
  
"I dunno, I..." His eyes flew wide. "Oh, crap!"  
  
"Crap? What crap?"  
  
"That reporter-guy! I have this interview-thing, I totally spaced it."  
  
Phoebe crawled off his lap. "Do you want me to leave?"  
  
"No, no, that's okay, it's just this little piece for 'Soap Opera Digest', shouldn't take long. Buzz him in, okay? I'm gonna put on a clean shirt."  
  
***  
  
"So, this character, Dr. Ramoray," the interviewer said, tapping his pencil against his pad. "Does playing him come easily for you?"  
  
"I feel like I'm sort of -- in sync with Dr. Drake," Joey said. "Actually, I write a lot of my own lines."  
  
Phoebe coughed on her soda, eyes bulging.  
  
"You -- you do?" the interviewer replied, shocked.  
  
"Joey, don't _confuse_ him," Phoebe laughed airily. "You know, for a poet, you'd think he could speak more clearly... I guess his mind's always off in the clouds."  
  
"A poet?" The interviewer swung around to her. "Really?"  
  
"Oh, yes. Joey writes _brilliant_ stuff. Actually, Joey and I were just talking the other day... so much of what Drake says is reminiscent of Joey's own words in his poetry. Really, it's like they were meant to be."  
  
"Ahh, okay," The interviewer smiled. "I thought you meant your own lines on the show."  
  
"But I --" Joey began.  
  
"Oh no, nooo," Phoebe soothed. "Joey would never change a _word_ of the writers' brilliant work. We were just talking today, weren't we, about how much you respected their craft... right, Joey?"  
  
"Right..." Joey stammered.  
  
"Huh. This is great stuff, but I don't really know how to phrase it... I mean, this is just supposed to be an interview with Joey..."  
  
"Aww, well, why don't you come over here?" Phoebe smiled coyly, pressing her breasts firmly into the reporter's arm. "I'm sure we can figure something out." 


	13. Breathing

Her hand was on the doorknob.  
  
Fifteen minutes, seven heavy sighs, and three times turning around, and this was how far she'd gotten: her hand was on the doorknob.  
  
Joey's snores filled the living room, bizarre percussion to her own fluttery breathing. She tried, failed, to match her own lungs to Joey's languid rhythm; she was too close, much too close to Chandler, for that trick to work.  
  
Her fingers raised, trailed down the pale wood of Chandler's door, the grain magnified against her trembling fingertips.  
  
So close.  
  
She'd gone to sleep crying and woken up from a dream of him, a dream that had brought back memories, details, she'd been trying desperately to suppress, a dream that had left her feverish with need to be with him, a junkie trembling in tangled sheets.  
  
She'd never wanted anything this much.  
  
She breathed in, breathed out.  
  
The doorknob turned beneath her hand, a wedge of light illuminating Chandler's sleeping face. She closed the door, silently, the tumblers turning as she raised her hand to softly press it shut. She stepped around the edge of his bed in the darkness, bare feet against the carpet, her eyes adjusting, her senses opening...   
  
He'd cracked a window to hear the rain, and the room was filled with the smell of storm-ozone over the deeper, older, bouquet of The Place Where Chandler Slept: hints of his cologne, a touch of Old Book, and the rising, warmed scent of Chandler's body in sleep. The streetlights below were bright smudges in the sheet of rain on the window, the storm, for now, obliterating all New York sound save that of Chandler's breathing.  
  
She lowered herself onto the bed, tugging his blankets over herself, pressing against his back, fitting herself to him, her arm wrapping around his waist. Heat spread through her from every contact point.  
  
He sighed in contentment, his hand wrapping through her own and pulling her closer.  
  
His breathing stayed regular; still not awake. She pressed her lips to the back of his neck, let her hand run up his stomach, breathed him in. He moved against her sleepily, dream-fuddled, and she went up on an elbow to kiss his jaw, his cheek.  
  
"Rach?" he whispered, his sleep-rough voice sending tremors to her toes, rolling towards her, confusion dawning with consciousness. "What's... what's going on?"  
  
She'd rehearsed what to say forever, but could only find one word: "Please?"  
  
Chandler blinked, his hand rising, the backs of his fingers brushing down her temple, sinking into her hair, gently pulling her towards him.  
  
And she went, her eyes closing as their lips met and opened, a thousand flushed fantasies becoming reality as her heart thudded in her chest.  
  
She'd forgotten, almost managed to make herself forget, how Chandler kissed... like breathing, like flying in dreams, an extension of herself, moving when she moved, a blurred ecstasy of softness and pressure.   
  
Chandler made her realize she'd been kissed wrong all her life, made novels suddenly snap into sense. Her consciousness was burning away, all concept of individual movements lost, realities sliding together, her fingers tracing over the roughness of his jaw, eyes closed, melting.  
  
She ran her hands over the soft fabric of Chandler's t-shirt, feeling the heat of him radiating beneath, the aliveness of him like electric current beneath her fingers, her lungs filling with his scent, spicy and intoxicating. She felt a throb in her lower stomach, spreading warmth, her leg rising of its own will to wrap around Chandler's thigh, pressing her body closer to his as his lips moved beneath hers.  
  
He moved over her, and homecoming flooded through her brain at the sweet, longed-for weight of him. She sank into the pillow, sank into his kisses, lazy and molasses and flying, and it was all a part of the moment, part of the perfection: the soft patter of the rain on his windowsill, the exquisite softness of his sheets, the rough heat of him as he sighed against her lips, his hand against her cheek.  
  
She wanted to tell him she loved him; the words beat themselves against her teeth. But that would be... complicated.  
  
_Oh, and _this_ isn't?_ her brain demanded.  
  
Chandler shut it up for her, his palms sliding beneath her t-shirt, warm and possessive. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, rejoicing as his weight shifted. Closer... better. She ground herself against him, triumph surging through her at his ragged moan.  
  
"Chandler..." she whispered, her neck arching as his fingers trailed higher.  
  
"Chandler?"  
  
Ross. Chandler and Rachel stiffened so fast they cracked skulls, clinging to each other, frozen comically.  
  
"Hey, Chandler, man, are you awake?"  
  
Their eyes turned frantically to each other. Chandler rolled off Rachel, running his fingers through his hair helplessly.  
  
The doorknob rattled. "I'm coming in, okay?"  
  
"No-no!" Chandler yelled, his voice cracking. "Stay out there, man, I'm -- I'm not decent."  
  
"I thought Joey was the naked sleeper," Ross laughed.  
  
God, if he cracked that door an inch...  
  
"Yeah, well, he seemed to like it so much, I thought I'd try it," Chandler called, staring at Rachel in catatonic shock.  
  
Rachel scanned the room, leaping off the bed and ducking into Chandler's closet. Chandler sighed, messed up his hair, and opened the bedroom door.  
  
"Sorry to wake you up, man," Ross said. "It's just... I really needed someone to talk to."  
  
"Not a problem, not a problem..." Chandler steered Ross into the living room, as far away from the door as possible. "What's on your mind, man?"  
  
"Well... it's Rachel."  
  
"Oh," Chandler said softly.  
  
"Yeah, I... hey, I brought a six-pack. You want one?"  
  
"Yeah, sure... a beer sounds... great."  
  
***  
  
Rachel sank to the floor of the closet, pushing one of Chandler's dress shoes aside to make room.  
  
How long had she been in here? Fifteen minutes? Thirty?  
  
Or... a truly hideous, horrible thought... just five?  
  
Twenty-seven years old, and she was hiding in a boy's closet, getting banged in the head by his belt collection. Rachel let out a soft sigh of self-disgust, leaning back against a suitcase.  
  
And not just any boy, right? A boy with a girlfriend. Who was, right now, out there consoling _her_ boyfriend, about _her_.  
  
Was there some sort of "Miss Universe's Biggest Bitch" pageant? She thought she had a shot this year.  
  
She could hear the familiar rhythms of Chandler and Ross' voices, but not words... pressed against the wall of Joey's room as she was, his snores obliterated all.  
  
Honestly, he ought to see a doctor about that. He snored so _fast_, like double-time... he should see a sleep therapist, he might have apnea or something...  
  
For distraction as much as anything, she pressed her ear to the wall. Maybe she could tell Joey what she'd heard, get him to go see a doctor...  
  
Of course, how would she explain how she'd...  
  
_That wasn't just Joey._  
  
What she'd thought was him wheezing was actually a _second_ snore, higher, more girlish.  
  
Well, of _course_ Joey had company. He was _Joey_, after all.  
  
Except that... except that she knew that snore. It was unique, high, softer, and she'd heard it before, heard it recently, heard it...  
  
Heard it on Margarita Night, when _Phoebe_ had finally fallen asleep.  
  
Rachel's hand flew to her lips, and she sprang away from the wall.  
  
***  
  
Light in her face.  
  
Rachel blinked against the brightness, consciousness bringing the realization that she'd been asleep in a tiny ball, and her _everything_ hurt.  
  
Arms around her, helping her up. Chandler. She let him pull her to her feet, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
  
And then he reached behind him and gently removed them.  
  
"Rach. You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm... I'm sore..."  
  
"I'm sorry about that. Really sorry."  
  
"It's okay, it was my fault..."  
  
"Rach. Look at me."  
  
She raised her stiff neck slowly, meeting his eyes.  
  
"We can never, never do this again," Chandler said firmly.  
  
"Chandler..."  
  
"I just spent _four hours_ consoling _your_ boyfriend, feeling like the shittiest human being on earth, and even shittier every time he told me how grateful he was to me. I can't... this can never happen again."  
  
"I don't want him to be my boyfriend," Rachel whispered. "I want you to be my boyfriend."  
  
"It's too late, Rachel."  
  
"Chandler..."  
  
"It's too late."  
  
She leaned forward, trying to kiss him, but he stepped back nimbly, raising his finger in the direction of her own apartment.  
  
"Rachel... go to bed."  
  
"But..."  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, eyes closed, an expression of exquisite pain across his features. "Please. Please go."  
  
"I..." She wanted to touch him, touch his hand, something to bridge the space widening between them... but he didn't want that. "Okay, I'll go."  
  
He blew air out in relief. "Thank you."  
  
And that -- that was the worst. His simple gratitude for her being gone. Her heart plummeted even lower.  
  
She walked out of the room without looking back. 


	14. Rain Checks

The best thing about the rain was... it hurt.  
  
Chandler handed the newsstand guy a ten, winced at how little change he got back, and shoved it in his trenchcoat pocket, the other hand stretching to grasp the pack of Marlboros.  
  
Old habits. Thumbing the tab, peeling the strip off in a thin, fine line. The crinkle as he shucked the cellophane, the soft whisper of the foil as he ripped it off.  
  
He crumpled these in a messy handful and stuffed them into his pocket. Sure, he might be a betrayer, a traitor, the worst friend ever... but he didn't _litter_.  
  
Walking again, packing his cigarettes against his palm with too much force. He paused under a canopy, gazing with sightless eyes at the jumble of electronics in the store window, lighting a cigarette.  
  
And back out into the rain, freezing droplets like tiny razors against his skin. Chandler made no effort to shield himself. He deserved this...  
  
Sitting on Ross' twin bed, their second week at college. Ross and his little photo-pile. Him and Monica, sitting stiffly side by side, looking ready to wage war at any moment; him and his parents; him and the chess club... a triumphant Ross at twelve, holding up The Geller Cup.  
  
And the last photo. Chandler could tell it was special just by the way Ross held it, gingerly, reverently; just the way Ross touched it made Chandler fairly sure he knew who it was a picture of.  
  
"And this... this is _Rachel_," Ross had said, in the tones of someone unveiling the Shroud of Turin.  
  
Chandler hadn't been allowed to actually _touch_ the photo, of course, but he'd leaned in over Ross' shoulder for a gaze at the goddess who haunted Ross' nights and 75% of his waking conversation.  
  
"Pretty," he'd said reflexively -- what the hell else was he gonna say? -- but honestly, he couldn't see what the big deal was. Moderately good-looking girl, horrible bangs, nose out to here... she'd looked like every other superficial, bitchy cheerleader type he'd run across.  
  
Ross had let out a sound that was nearly a growl, and Chandler had realized that "pretty" was not going to cut it. He searched the little wallet photo for something spectacular, something to mollify Ross, and...  
  
It was the eyes. They sucked you in, after a moment; there was a humor in them completely at odds with her over-manicured, pretty princess look. Something in those eyes said she was a girl to split a pizza with, who'd tickle you until you cried...  
  
Ross cleared his throat, and Chandler realized he'd made the opposite mistake -- he'd looked too long.  
  
"She looks like someone famous," he lied, sitting back from the photo, leaning on his hands. "Can't quite figure out who, though..."  
  
"Carrie Fisher?" Ross said excitedly. "I think she looks like Carrie Fisher!"  
  
Chandler snapped his fingers. "That must be it."  
  
How many nights had Chandler lain awake, fingers threaded underneath his head, listening to Ross talk about the fabulous, perfect Rachel Green? No matter that she'd completely ignored Ross during their Thanksgiving trip home -- quelling any ideas that she had deeper levels put into Chandler's head by those eyes -- the rapturous soliloquies continued unabated. Even Carol had taken months to pierce his obsession.  
  
God, how would Chandler feel if Ross had slept with... with...  
  
There was no name to fill that blank, no one Chandler had ever burned for like Ross burned for Rachel.  
  
Well, except for... Rachel.  
  
God. Waking up with her arms around him, her small fingers entwined with his... he'd thought he was dreaming. Until he had kissed her, until he'd felt the heat of her, until he'd been too maddened to stop...  
  
Because he was a betrayer. A traitor. The worst friend ever.  
  
_Oh, and speaking of bad friends,_ the ever-helpful voice in his head supplied, _what about Rachel, huh?_  
  
Chandler's hands shook as he inhaled.  
  
There was Rachel, depressed over her parents' divorce, wanting to crawl in with him, wanting a little comfort, and what had he done? Grabbed her head and kissed her, taken the whole thing out of control in an instant, taken advantage of her sadness...  
  
_And kicked her out... don't forget kicked her out. After she covered for your traitor ass by hiding in a closet for four hours._  
  
He blinked back tears. When did he turn into such a fucking bad person? He'd always thought of himself as one of the good guys. He and Joey even had that sign, their joke, the "Nice Guys Don't Finish Last" sign.  
  
Well, _that_ wasn't true. Ross was nice, and look what it got him -- a "best friend" who was pond scum, and a girlfriend who...  
  
_Rain checks._  
  
The phrase had come up over and over during Ross' rant tonight. Rachel had apparently bailed on him constantly in the short time they'd been dating... bailed out of kisses, movies, letting him come in.  
  
_Rain checks._  
  
"Jesus, Chandler," Ross had said, his hands pressed together between his knees. "I mean, I know she needs time and all, but god -- is it ever going to quit raining?"  
  
And Chandler had smiled, and said something funny, and known in his heart that he was the reason Ross' life had gotten rained out.  
  
Ross' first chance with the fabulous, perfect Rachel Green -- the thing he'd waited over a decade for -- and Chandler had screwed it up for him completely.  
  
And the worst. The _worst_. The thing that made him hate himself the most... was that as Ross slumped miserably in the barcolounger, telling his tale of Rachel-flavored woe, Chandler's heart had leapt.  
  
His best friend in pain, and all Chandler had been able to feel was joy.  
  
Rachel had spent his hotel misadventure freaked out and pacing the floor -- Ross hadn't touched her. Their dates had been disasterous and ended in an endless series of rain checks. Not only had they not slept together, the two times Chandler had seen them kiss were it. And bonus info -- Rachel was laboring under the delusion that he was dating Kathy, which explained a whole hell of a lot.  
  
And the possessive male inside him had pounded on its chest and shrieked in triumph.  
  
The guilt was excruciating, even more so when Ross had finally left, when he'd wrenched the closet door open, so determined to tell Rachel it was all over...  
  
And she'd been lying there, tiny, fragile, curled up in a ball, her nose pressed into one of his old t-shirts, her fist curled up under her chin like a child.  
  
And, god help him, all he'd wanted to do was pick her up, lay her down across his bed, and kiss her until he died.  
  
"Pond scum," he muttered, lighting another cigarette off the dying butt of the one before.  
  
So what had he done? Explained himself logically? Sat her down and had a nice, quiet talk?  
  
No. He'd been _fucking cruel_. He'd had to be. If he'd let one ounce, one sliver of emotion leak, he'd have told her he loved her and begged her to stay...  
  
Chandler brushed rain and tears off his cheeks. Well, there was a bonus to all this. Rachel now undoubtedly thought he was an asshole -- getting over him ought to be easy now. And she could be with Ross, where she belonged.  
  
_She doesn't belong with him. She belongs with me._  
  
Chandler leaned against a wall, heedless of the water dripping down his face, lost in imaginings. Rachel and Ross' wedding. Their fashionable, genius children. Their house in Scarsdale...  
  
"Ow, shit!" he cried, dropping his cigarette in pain. Unheeded, it had burned down to the filter, down to his skin. Chandler stuck his wounded fingers into his mouth, regarding the cigarette butt hissing out in the puddle at his feet.  
  
Okay, so, he took it back.  
  
He was a betrayer, a traitor, the worst friend ever... _and_ he littered. 


	15. Communion

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"  
  
The angry screech sliced through Rachel's consciousness, freezing all neurons in its wake. Rachel jumped, the cigarette in her fingers tumbling over the edge of the balcony as she blinked, statue-like, at the window-framed Hellwrath of Monica.  
  
"Did you not _hear_ me?"  
  
A guilty smile creaked rustily onto her face. "Hi, Mon..."  
  
"Since when do you smoke? How long have you been hiding this from me? Do you have any idea how _horrible_ that is for you? Rachel? _Rachel_? _Rachel Karen Green_??"  
  
"Umm..."  
  
Monica hauled herself angrily through the window, fluffy slipper catching on the sill. She shoved it back on her foot with disgust. "You _completely_ bailed on me tonight, you know! Do you have *any* idea how freaked-out I was? You _knew_ how much this job meant to me! The most irresponsible, inconsiderate... I come home and you're _sleeping_, and I wake up and you're _smoking_? What the hell has gotten into you?"  
  
"I was mostly just..." Rachel sighed, gripping the pack in her pocket for reassurance, "Holding it..."  
  
"Well, _blaze up another one_! You've got about three minutes to live, anyway! Why are you _holding_ cigarettes, then? In your pyjamas? It's wet out here, it's been storming all night!"  
  
"It smelled like..." Rachel began. Her mouth snapped shut around the truth, and suddenly, inspiration struck. "... my dad."  
  
"Your _dad_," Monica repeated dubiously.  
  
"My mom's leaving him, Mon."  
  
Shock flared over Monica's face. "And you... you found out about this today?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Is... is _that_ why you forgot?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Oh... sweetie..." Monica rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Rachel before springing back with a cough. "Ugh. You smell like Chandler after a break-up."  
  
A ghost of an ironic smile touched Rachel's lips, and she raised the pack. "You mind?"  
  
Monica groaned. "I guess not. Since you're in pain and all. Stay downwind!" She peered a little closer. "Isn't that Chandler's brand?"  
  
"Yeah, I... stole these from his pocket."  
  
_Or went down to the Korean deli at 3 a.m. and picked them out in my pyjamas, one of the two..._  
  
"Well, at least you're not _buying_ them yet," Monica muttered. "This isn't something you plan to do permanently, is it?"  
  
"No, no, I'm just... sad tonight." Rachel inhaled deeply, let the Chandler swirl around in her lungs, exhaled reluctantly. "How _did_ your catering thing go?"  
  
A little glint danced in Monica's eyes. "It went... okay..."  
  
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Okay, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," Monica said breezily, stretching out her palms on the concrete railing. "It was fine. Y'know. Uneventful. Calm."  
  
"You are _lying_ to me," Rachel laughed. "You have the worst poker face in the _world_... what happened?"  
  
"Nothing!" Monica insisted, unable to suppress her grin.  
  
"Who'd you meeeeeeet...?"  
  
"I did not _meet_ anyone," Monica said, blinking with wide-eyed honesty.  
  
"Who'd you run intooooo..."  
  
"I didn't... run into anyone..."  
  
"Okay, who was at the party that you already knew and..." Rachel stopped, gasped. "Nooo."  
  
Monica looked up at the pre-dawn sky, the portrait of innocence.  
  
"Monica...?" Rachel prodded.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can I ask you a... teensy little question?"  
  
"I suppose..."  
  
"Is Dr. Burke still as hunky as he was when we were kids?"  
  
And Monica collapsed in on herself, giggling. "Oh dear god, _so_ hunky."  
  
"Aaand...?"  
  
"And I have an eye appointment tomorrow."  
  
Rachel laughed. "Didn't you _just_ get your eyes checked?"  
  
"27 is a dangerous eye age!"  
  
"So... is this one-sided?"  
  
Monica grinned around a mouthful of knuckle. "I don't think so."  
  
"Monica _Geller_!"  
  
"Yeah, well." Monica hung her head coyly, kicking the brick lightly with her slipper. "So how about _your_ love life, huh? How's stuff with Ross?"  
  
Rachel's temporary cheer evaporated, her fingers tightening protectively around her cigarette. "Oh... fine, just fine."  
  
"So how..."  
  
Rachel cut her off. "So... I know what _I'm_ doing up a four a.m... what's your excuse? Mooning over the good doctor?"  
  
"Cramps," Monica laughed. "And... a little bit of mooning over the good doctor."  
  
"He _is_ pretty dreamy," Rachel smiled.  
  
"Yeah... yeah, he is," Monica hugged herself. "Okay, I'm freezing my butt off, I'm going back to bed. Don't stay out here too long, okay? Hypothermia _and_ lung cancer..."  
  
"Just a few more minutes."  
  
"Okay." Monica touched her shoulder, avoiding her smoke cloud. "Sweetie... I'm really sorry about your parents."  
  
"Yeah. I am too."  
  
She watched Monica crawl through the window, then turned her gaze back out to the night. The storm had turned to mist, and she watched as tiny dark spots formed on her cigarette, dried from the heat, formed again.  
  
That was pretty awesome, wasn't it? Monica and hunky Richard Burke?  
  
She inhaled, remembering Dr. Burke as best she could. Dashing... urbane... charming... witty. _Perfect_ for Monica.  
  
_Didn't screw her over so badly after all, didya?_  
  
A small comfort. But a comfort, nonetheless... and damn, but she needed one.  
  
She sighed again. _Chandler._  
  
She'd always thought his name was so... weird. Stuffy, formal, didn't fit him... even he hated it.  
  
When had it become so achingly beautiful, the _perfect_ name, a mantra, a charm? When had it become a noun meaning home, warmth, love?  
  
She'd tried to sleep again and failed miserably, padding into the kitchen for a Diet Coke, pushing open the refrigerator door with half-open eyes...  
  
And she'd seen a single Yoo-Hoo, forgotten behind a jar of maraschino cherries, languishing in the fridge door.  
  
She'd grabbed it, mostly to look at... that stuff had an _ungodly_ number of calories... and then found herself shaking it, twisting the cap off, sipping... then pouring it down her throat in rich, chocolatey gulps.  
  
_This is the thing he drinks. This is what it tastes like to be him..._  
  
The somber, almost religious fervor of her thoughts scared her. Ridiculous... like she was taking communion, at one in the morning, in front of a jar that said "Cookie Time".  
  
How had she lost control of her heart so completely? She'd never been this... this freakishly obsessed. With Pete, with Barry, even with Paolo and Ross... she'd loved, sure, but she'd never been so consumed, so drenched with emotion... like Chandler had snuck into her every atom while she slept and scrawled his name on it.  
  
She'd tried to distract herself, flipping through channels... then slung the remote away in disgust when she realized she was subconsciously looking for "Baywatch".  
  
That had been when she'd shoved on shoes, thrown on her raincoat, and gone for the "cleansing walk" that had turned into a beeline for the deli.  
  
Sitting on the park bench, freezing her ass off, flannel sheep-print pyjama legs protruding comically from her raincoat... fumbling inexpertly with the package of Marlboros, taking a moment to decode the child-proofing on the lighter...  
  
And then... heat inside her. It wasn't searing heat, Chandler-heat, but... she could feel it. She watched the clouds stream from her lips, entranced by the notion that, separated by space, she and Chandler were _breathing_ together.  
  
Communion.  
  
It was what she had wanted, wasn't it?  
  
Rachel snapped back to the present, shivering in the dampness. She had to, had to think about something else...  
  
Mon was so cute, all giggly and moony, wasn't she? Too bad she had...  
  
Whoa. _Cramps?_  
  
But... Monica was always two weeks _after_ her, always. It was one of their little jokes... all that time living together, and they'd never managed to synchronize...  
  
And she hadn't...  
  
Rachel gasped, frozen, blinking hard... and then hurled the cigarette away from her. 


	16. Poached Stuff and Pain

Teeny little teaser chapter.  
  
Could Episode 1011 have _made_ me any happier? Am planning a whole new R/C fic based on it...  
  
-------------------------------  
  
"Rachel Green... you've been keeping something from us!"  
  
Rachel's head snapped up from her magazine, eyes widening in guilty shock. "W-what?"  
  
"We didn't have time to get a cake... since _somebody's_ so secretive..." Annie whipped a card out from behind her back. "But... we did get you a card, and we're gonna order pizza! Happy Birthday!"  
  
"It's... it's not my _birthday_," Rachel insisted, accepting the pink envelope Annie shoved into her hands.  
  
"Well, unless you lied on your application... a federal offense, by the way... I beg to differ! I didn't even notice until I sent our payroll numbers to accounting."  
  
"But it's..." Rachel turned her desk calendar towards her and gasped softly. "Oh."  
  
"Also, these came for you..." Bryce called from the hallway door, his arms full of roses.  
  
"Oh... oh, wow," Rachel said helplessly, her heart sinking as Bryce set the heavy arrangement on her desk with a thud.  
  
"Go on, go on, who are they _from_?" Annie chirped, fingering the small white envelope on its stick.  
  
Two dozen roses? She knew who they were from. She plucked the envelope off of the bouquet, pulling out the card inside.  
  
"To Rachel, on her special day... with the promise of a special night. Pick you up after work. Ross."  
  
_Oh god_. Rachel pasted a smile on and turned sunnily to her co-workers. "You guys, this is so _sweet_! I _really_ appreciate it."  
  
"Mysterious again," Annie laughed, rolling her eyes at Bryce. "I'm gonna order that pizza. Pepperoni okay?"  
  
"Pepperoni's fine," Rachel mumbled, turning the card over and over in her fingertips.  
  
Bryce stood a moment, watching her curiously. "Rachel... everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah! Yeah, sure, I... I just hate my birthday," Rachel stuck the card back into the envelope, skewering it back on the floral stick. "Getting older... approaching death... you know."  
  
"Mmm," Bryce tapped her desk with his knuckles. "Cheerful! I'll leave you to it."  
  
_Crap. Crap. Crappity crap crap._  
  
Rachel yanked her purse towards her, staring at the edge of the box just visible in its interior.  
  
EPT Home Pregnancy Test. There were actually two of them in there... she'd bought them on the way to work. She'd planned to take them... well... after work. And then spend the evening flipping out. Y'know.  
  
But... god. A 'special night' with Ross, and...  
  
Rachel's eyes widened, and her fingers flew to her temples.  
  
Monica _never_ forgot birthdays. _Never_. For her not to have mentioned it meant one thing...  
  
Surprise Party.  
  
Surprise Party... planned by _Monica_.  
  
Surprise Party with Overly Supervised Games, and some sort of poached fish entree, and weird gourmet cake.  
  
Surprise Party with _Chandler_.  
  
No-no, scratch that -- Surprise Party with _Chandler and Kathy_.  
  
Rachel let out a little moan. She could barely handle today as it was -- adding attempted seduction by Ross, poached crap, Pictionary, and _her baby's father and his girlfriend_...  
  
It was like some sort of intricately crafted, personalized torture.  
  
How was she going to explain why she wasn't drinking? How was she going to handle watching Chandler and Kathy? How was she going to get Ross off of her? How was she not gonna spend the evening in tears?  
  
Rachel blinked. She'd go to her parents! She'd say that they'd had a thing planned...  
  
_Your parents are in the middle of a divorce, stupid._  
  
Amy? Jill? Hell, who even knew how to find them?  
  
_Face it, babe... it's poached stuff and pain. Happy Birthday!_


End file.
